


A Back That's Strong

by ballantine



Series: Departures [2]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Prison Escape, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:18:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1933680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballantine/pseuds/ballantine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr doesn't remember anything before he was put in a labor camp ten years ago, and now even that life is ending. Charged with murder and shoved aboard a prison ship destined for a penal colony at the far edges of the System, he is ready to give up hope. </p><p>Enter Charles Xavier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete, and I'll be posting a set of chapters every few days.
> 
> For those curious or interested in such things, [here is a reference map](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/fortywinks/1358053/349/349_original.jpg) to accompany the story. 
> 
> In the story I have used/paraphrased a couple lines from the XMFC and X2, which I thought I should mention just to be safe. I have also used names of people and places from the X-men comics with wild abandon. This version of the story is at the moment unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.

_Prisoner Transport Shuttle for the_ G.S. Caspartina   
_N'Jadaka, capital city of Wakanda, a quinary planet in the Vega System  
Date 3675.6 _ (Erik is 32, Charles is 27)

 

Erik woke up as the shuttle's engine quieted and the back hatch opened, allowing light in for the first time in several hours. He'd been pillowing his head with his forearm against the bench railing, and the tattoo was the first thing to come into focus: _214782_ in machine stamp blue. He sat up and looked around, neck stiff from exhaustion.

Wakanda might very well have been a pleasant planet; it seemed unlikely that a habitable planet could be wholly awful. Having spent most of his known life down in mines, Erik didn't have a lot to compare Wakanda to. And now it seemed he never would.

“Nice day, isn't it,” he said to Logan, the burly hairy man who had been shackled to the bench beside him for the past six hours.

It wasn't, really. They couldn't even see the sun, exactly, but the open hatch showed a patch of blue sky outside. It was likely the last that Erik would ever see, so he felt justified in exaggerating it. A humid breeze carried the smell of exhaust, sweat, and stale cigar smoke – that last seemed to be from his new companion.

Logan shot him a look under heavy eyebrows. “Sure, pal. Delightful.”

They were two of five on the shuttle but were about to be joined by many more; cities always produced more prisoners. Erik had been picked up sunburnt and solo from some drop-off point in a rural province he couldn't even name.

He'd taken an immediate liking to Logan, though they hadn't spoken more than a few sentences to each other. Erik was pretty certain the warm feeling had something to do with the fact that the man's entire skeletal system seemed to be lined with adamantium, which was an alloy of the same metal Erik had spent the past ten years mining. He didn't care if that _was_ the reason; he was just relieved to be feeling something.

–

After another hour of interminable waiting, more guards stepped up into the shuttle, trailed by a chain gang of twenty or so prisoners. In short order the prisoners were divided into two sides, seated, and locked back in to the railings that ran the length of the compartment. Watching them fidget against one another and shift uncomfortably on the hard benches, Erik felt mildly pleased at having secured a corner spot earlier in the day.

“Listen up, convicts!”

A man in a perfectly pressed black uniform with a tablet tucked under his arm strode into the shuttle. He stood at parade rest before the hatch and surveyed them all unsmiling before speaking in what Erik had come to recognize as the slow, self-congratulatory drawl unique to overseers, police, and prison guards the system over.

“Some of the freaks among you will have noticed your Forge Restraints are temporary models – I am telling you now not to take this as a sign of _hope_ , as a sign of God's _love,_ or your last, _best_ chance at freedom. It is none of those things.

“You are in temporary Restraints because the _Caspartina_ , mighty fine vessel that she is, is equipped with top-of-the-line dampening technology. The Restraints will come off once you are processed onboard the ship, and then you'll get to be normal human beings until you hit the reception center on Santo Marco. Enjoy the reprieve.” The man strode down the aisle and let himself into the cockpit. There were some mutters from a few of the humans, but otherwise all was silent.

Erik glanced around; aside from himself (and Logan, though judging from his lack of Restraints, the Wakandan Justice System was not aware of what he was), only three other prisoners were mutants.

Near the end of the shuttle by the hatch were a pair of boys who could scarcely be of majority age. Likely brothers, Erik decided after looking them over for a few seconds. The elder's head was tightly bandaged over his eyes, a poor man's mutation management, which made something in the back of Erik's mind flicker with interest: what happens when the bandages come off? The boy kept his blinded face tilted towards his younger brother, who whispered continuously to him.

The third mutant sat across the aisle a few feet away from Erik. She was around his age, dark-skinned, and had a shock of white dreadlocks that hung around her shoulders. She sat extremely still, breathed deeply, and kept her eyes closed. Judging from the glimmer of the Restraints, she was a very powerful mutant, which startled him. Erik had never met another mutant as powerful as himself.

After a moment, Erik looked away – and then paused; the prisoner sitting next to the woman was staring directly at him.

He was a slim, compact man with a suit jacket that had seen better days and a disheveled mop of brown hair. He was gazing at Erik with the wide, glazed eyes and dogged intensity of the extremely drunk.

Erik let his gaze slide away as if he hadn't noticed the stare. A quick look out of the corner of his eyes showed him that the man continued to focus in his direction. Erik shifted in his seat and twisted his wrists fretfully in the Restraints.

“ _PALACE,_ ” the drunk suddenly said, startling his neighbors with the volume of his voice. He looked away from Erik long enough to list forward and retch. As the pungent stench of beer and bile filled the compartment so did groans and curses from the other prisoners. The woman opened her eyes and looked at her neighbor in dismay and disgust.

“For fuck's sake, throw him out the hatch,” someone called.

“You can't expect us to ride out to the ship like this!” Murmurs of agreement came from several around the compartment.

“You'll shut your mouth or soon _you'll_ be puking from a club in your gut,” a guard warned before walking over and tossing sand over the mess on the floor. He gave the wavering drunk a hard shove, forcing his head back against the wall with a dull crack.

“The hatch would be a mercy,” Logan muttered to Erik. “That one doesn't look like he'd last two days on Santo Marco.”

Watching as the drunk stared confusedly down at his now-filthy shoes for a few moments before passing out, Erik privately agreed.

–

In space, one feels nothing except acceleration and collision. And Erik was tired, so tired of throwing himself about, hoping to feel something.

He'd been in space before, always locked down, but never quite like this. Erik knew he should turn his mind towards resistance or escape, but instead he almost welcomed the idea of living on some Rim colony. Appreciated the finality of the destination.

A guard walked heavily by in a pair of mag-boots that made his fingers twitch with each step. “Hope you all got a chance to say goodbye to Wakanda and the sweet delights of Proximal Vega, 'cause you're never coming back.” He accompanied this with a nasty grin as he slapped the switch to close the shuttle hatch. The crowing continued in that vein, the kind of petty talk that Erik was deeply familiar with after ten years of Forged labor. So Erik tuned him out, instead fixing his gaze down the long row of prisoners adjusting to the certainty of their fate.

The shuttle thrummed to life.

One young man curled forward and wept awkwardly into his own elbow in an attempt to stifle the noise of his sobs. The mutant woman was back to closing her eyes tight, sitting ramrod straight with her fists balled tightly. The brothers had jammed their shoulders and hips hard up against each other and were sitting silent and grim-faced. Logan had fallen asleep.

The shuttle began to move.

Locked in together but each undeniably alone, the prisoners were afforded no views of the launch, no final glimpse of the planet that had been a lifelong home to some, a passing harbor to others. Even numbed by the Restraints, Erik could still sense the planet recede, its magnetic field and rich deposits of vibranium falling away as they moved upwards towards the void. He knew they had left the atmosphere a split second before their limbs and clothing started to lift.

And then they were out in space, hurtling towards another ship, another planet, another captivity.

In space, one feels nothing except acceleration and collision. It is a perfect stillness. A stillness that belies violence and lends a certain passive inevitability to even the most devastating of journeys.

The shuttle approached the _Caspartina._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 _The_ G.S. Caspartina  
 _Quinary orbit, outer edge of Proximal Vega_   
_Date 3675.75_

 

 

The _G.S. Caspartina_ was a massive ship, built for ferrying up to two thousand prisoners at any given time across the system to penal colonies, work camps, and prisons. They did a brisk trade in prisoner release transport on the side: _backhauling_ was the term Erik had heard used.

He'd felt rather than seen the mass of the ship as they approached, and the size of the cargo bay where they processed new prisoners matched his estimation of the dimensions. Taking control or breaking out of a ship so large was almost impossible.

Erik registered the thought and felt nothing about it. He mechanically took a step forward in the long queue, not really focusing on anything in particular, but before long a commotion across the hangar floor caught his attention.

A woman – a young woman, a girl – was backing out of her line, hands up over her face, shaking all over.

“No, no, I don't _belong_ here, I don't – I can't go in there – No!” The girl broke away from the pair of guards approaching her and made to run – where to, Erik couldn't guess. She made it ten feet before a guard caught up to her and cuffed her across the neck with a widow's bite gauntlet. She jerked and sagged to the floor.

Everyone looked away, and lines resumed inching forward.

After a few more minutes, he became aware of a whispered conversation happening somewhere behind him.

“I heard he took a guy out using the _man's own fillings_.”

“I feel bad for the men who have to bunk with the animal. He'll probably snap and strangle someone in the middle of the night.”

Erik looked around and spotted the pair of women talking. Catching one's eyes, he smiled slowly, toothily, the same grin he'd use in the camps whenever a new worker tried to step up and cause trouble. Her eyes widened gratifyingly.

Feeling another set of eyes upon him, he shifted his gaze. After a confused moment he recognized the drunk from the shuttle. The man didn't seem quite so drunk anymore but was clearly _wrecked,_ his eyes were bloodshot, almost anguished. Must have been one hell of a hangover.

The man looked from the now-silent women to Erik, and when he met his eyes, he nodded a greeting. Erik turned back around in response, feeling unsettled. A boy in front of him who’d been staring quickly averted his face, slowly edged away. Erik took a careful breath.

He shouldn't be bothered by what they were saying. He had, after all, done worse and didn't even regret it. His only goal had been to kill Shaw, and nothing mattered past that, certainly not the opinions of some scared mice.

It had taken him _years_ to build up the tolerance and will power to overcome the Forge Restraints enough to do the deed. Now that his primary goal had been completed, his anger was banked. Killing his creator – that was what monsters did in the stories. It was worth it, even if it did land him here.

The line moved forward, and he was next to step up to one of three processing windows. Erik said nothing but offered his eye up for scanning. The man behind the glass partition read the scan aloud to his assistant.

“Lehnsherr, Erik. 32. Mutant. O Level – this is the one Captain Gyrich mentioned.” The man paused. “Better put him in a solo cell, E-block, unit...” The man slowed and broke off. As Erik watched, nonplussed, he blinked dully at nothing for a long moment before suddenly shaking his head. He looked again at his tablet and continued as if nothing had happened. “Put him in gen pop – C-block, unit 245.”

The assistant made the correction without apparently noticing anything amiss.

As soon as Erik realized he wasn't going to be put in solitary he felt almost weak with relief. He hadn't even realized how much he was dreading being shoved into solitary until he knew it wasn't going to happen. He moved along the counter, still blinking at his good fortune.

He received his jumpsuit, a dull gray affair that was still in better condition than the clothing on his back. He stepped through the ship hatch still in a daze, which abruptly evaporated as soon as he was through the door. He was barely aware of the technician who immediately reached out and unlocked the Forge Restraints from around his wrists, revealing white unhealthy skin that hadn't seen light or proper air in years. He didn't need the Restraints, because he was now under the ship dampeners.

It wasn't like what he expected; it wasn't like the Restraints, not at all. There was a difference between being blindfolded, able to feel the mask and peek around the edges sometimes, and being put in a completely darkened room.

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't live like this for however long it would take to get out to the System Rim.

His mutation has always been the single greatest source of both joy and torment in his life. Shaw would not have had any use for him without it; it probably had something to do with whatever led to his mindwipe all those years ago. It meant a life in shackles – but it also, paradoxically, was the only thing that had made his life worth living, or rather: the only thing sometimes that reminded him he _was_ alive. The call and constant vibration of the world around him – it defined him, and now _they_ _were taking it away._

“Whoa there, Lehnsherr,” someone somewhere said warily. “We know the dampeners can be a shock to you freaks, but you need to _calm down_ and get into C-line.” A pause, then harder: “You cause trouble, and I'll have to put you down.” Slight turn of the head and a call, “Espina, I need back-up.”

Erik blinked and realized he had pinned himself back against the deaddead _dead_ metal wall of the compartment, knees bent in fighting position. Some uniform, 'Zyrick' stitched along the front pocket, was talking to him, deliberate and slow, like he was a caged animal. Another was detaching herself from the line of prisoners along the far wall and heading over. Hands were drifting to side holsters.

If they pulled their guns now, there wasn't a _damn_ thing Erik could do about it.

– Then Zyrick blinked and wavered as if in indecision. Espina stopped in her tracks, hand still a hair away from her gun. Their expressions both went slack. Erik, chest heaving in panic, looked from one to the other in confusion. They all held like that for the briefest of moments.

“You're holding up the line,” someone snapped from the shuttle side of the hatchway before shoving another prisoner through onto the ship's side. The drunk from the shuttle stumbled and caught himself.

As if in response, the guards immediately snapped back into position, guns coming out and pointing at Erik.

But Erik, eyes on the man who had just entered and who was now rubbing his temples as if in pain... or perhaps a crushing shock – found himself suddenly, unexpectedly... calm.

“Huh,” he said, watching the man breathe deeply. Then, recalling the guards and looking back at them, Erik straightened and put his hands up. “No – it's okay, I'm okay. I'm – not resisting.”

Zyrick didn't lower his gun, but he relaxed slightly. “Then get in C-line – _both_ of you,” he added, shoving the man in Erik's direction. “You're in the same block.”

“Are we.” Erik said quietly, eyes narrowed and still on the other prisoner. He thought of the processing desk, the odd pauses, his last second reprieve from solitary.

The other man finally dropped his hands from his face and looked at Erik again, pale but lucid, almost defiant. “Same cell, even, I believe.” A flash of a pained smile. “Unit 245, correct?”

“...Indeed.”

“What providence.” And then, bizarrely, he extended his hand. “Charles Xavier.”

Erik snorted slightly at the polite tone the man used, the display from the transport shuttle still fresh in mind, but he was also unnerved and trying to hide it. Not many people had ever shown special interest in him; those that did had not left favorable impressions in Erik’s mind. Yet this felt... different, somehow.

Maybe it was as simple as the extended hand. Erik had never shaken someone's hand before.

He did so now, feeling the strength of Xavier's grip, the heat of his hand, the flicker of his index finger over Erik's pulse.

“I'd tell you my name, but I get the feeling,” Erik paused and hazarded a guess. “I get the feeling that you've already... _heard_ it.”

A startlingly broad smile appeared on Xavier's face, starting at one corner of his mouth and spreading. After a moment they broke the handshake. Xavier shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels, looking enormously pleased.

“Something like that.”

They shifted obediently into line to await dispatch to their new block, but kept their shoulders and faces still angled towards each other.

“So.” Erik didn't know what to say. “Shouldn't you be bald?”

Xavier's reply was mild. “Well, I rather like having hair. And a shaved head would be very cold indeed on Santo Marco, don't you think?”

“I suppose it makes it easier to hide that you're a mutant. Do you always?” First Logan, now this Xavier. Erik wondered how many more mutants there could be, hidden away on board this ship or elsewhere throughout the system. The thought threw him.

“I've just told you, haven't I?”

Erik eyed him. “You start your revisions early, don't you – You didn't _tell_ me. I guessed.”

“Ah, but I _would_ have told you.” The wry warmth in his voice made it sound like a privilege. Erik ignored that.

“But you're not telling them,” Erik nodded at the guards across the room. It wasn't, of course, a serious question, but he was curious. What kind of strings did one have to pull, exactly, to hide a power like that?

“Why would I? It's not like I can hear anything in here anyway. This... isn't what I expected.” Xavier smile faded slightly, caught in another thought. Erik wondered what it felt like to be cut off from people's thoughts after living in them for years. He wondered if it was anything like how he felt now, Half-blind. Hungry, unable to be filled. Like wearing thick mitts over his hands.

Their line was completed with the addition of the two mutant brothers Erik had noticed earlier on the shuttle. The younger blond boy held the elder's arm and guided him across the room. He looked over, saw Xavier, and relief flickered over his face. They made their way over.

“You know them?” Erik asked Xavier.

“Know them?” Xavier said to Erik as he smiled reassuringly at the boy, who turned and whispered into his brother's ear. “I'm here because of them.”

“Hm. I assumed drunk and disorderly.”

“The Rim for drunk and disorderly? Not even the Empire would be so harsh.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “So what did you do then?”

By all rights, Erik shouldn't be asking. Tit for tat, Xavier would want to know what _Erik_ did.

Unless he already knew. Maybe he saw it back on the shuttle when Erik's mind would have been wide open. He might already know and not care; the thought made Erik feel oddly light.

Xavier looked up at him. “Do? I didn't do anything, not in the way you mean.” He smiled with an unassuming confidence. “The Wakandan police arrested me because I wanted them to do so. I wanted to be here, on this ship.” Xavier searched Erik's face, expression suddenly serious. “Oh, but Erik – I didn't expect _you_.”

Erik didn't know which confused him more about this man, his apparent desire to be in the least desirable of circumstances or the way he talked to Erik as if he already knew him. “What do you mean by that?”

But the line was ordered to move, and Xavier did not answer.


	3. Chapter 3

_The_ G.S. Caspartina  
 _Approaching the Backsystem, en route to System Rim  
Date 3676.4_

 

That first day on board they are told it will take a month to reach the Rim.

–

Erik woke up to the deep hum of the ship. His limbs were heavy on the bed, and he felt strangely disconnected. It took a few seconds for him to remember where he was, about the dampeners, and his complete powerlessness. He didn't move to get up, but continued staring at the ceiling a short few feet above.

After a moment, though, he became aware of a whispered argument taking place several feet away by the other bunk.

The brothers Scott and Alex Summers were also quartered with Xavier, likely by the same 'providence' that had brought Erik to this cell. They had been mostly quiet the night before after the guards frisked them all and supervised their uniform change. He supposed it was too much to hope that the silence was going to be the norm.

“Just take it off already.”

“Leave it alone, Alex.”

“You'll be fine under the dampeners, they all said so, and it's not like they're going to risk their own fucking ship. Don't you want to _see_ for once?”

“I said, _leave it_.”

Xavier's rich measured voice joined in on the conversation from the bottom bunk, and Erik's attention involuntarily sharpened. He turned his head slightly to look down at the rest of the cell; the younger boy was standing over his seated brother, arms folded and face vaguely hostile.

“It's of course commendable that you want to help your brother, Alex, but you have to let him make his own choices.” Alex made a rude noise in reply, which Xavier ignored as he addressed Scott, “ _Are_ you worried about the dampeners? Is that why you won't remove the blindfold?” Erik couldn't see him, but he could hear an intriguing sardonic bite enter his voice, “I can assure you that they are _highly_ effective, even against powerful mutations.”

Scott didn't reply for a moment, leaning forward over his knees, serious face tilted down towards his clasped hands. Then, shaking his head, he said, “It's not that. I just don't want to get used to something I won't be able to keep.” He shrugged and turned with unerring accuracy to his brother a few feet away. “And I'm used to _this_ , so it's fine. It's all just – _fine_.”

Alex only shook his head, looking stubbornly unhappy.

Xavier made a considering noise. “There may be something we can do for it. There's a young man on my crew who is quite ingenious, built my ship – and it's a very, ah, _unique_ ship. He may be able to come up with some kind of headgear that would allow you to open your eyes safely.”

Scott was obviously skeptical but his habit of politeness was much stronger than his brother's. “That sounds... promising, professor, thank you.”

Professor? Just who the hell was Erik quartered with?

“Right,” Alex muttered. “And all we have to do is get off this ship. _Without_ the help of our powers. You haven't exactly told us how you plan to do that. _Professor_.”

“ _Alex_ – ” Scott began, straight-backed and embarrassed.

But Xavier sounded only amused. “All in good time, Alex. Thankfully some of us have skills and assets beyond our mutation. Good morning, Erik.”

Erik jerked slightly in surprise, but the movement was mostly hidden from the brothers. Xavier, however, might have noticed the mattress shift from bottom bunk, so he covered by slipping down to the floor. He stood tall and tugged on the cuffs of his new gray jumpsuit.

The Summers retreated carefully, shutting off and turning in towards each other while keeping a close side eye on Erik. Their silence the night before suddenly made a little more sense.

He turned to Xavier, who was lounging back on his bed against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle. His eyes looked tired around the edges, but he was still absurdly neat and proper even in his own new drab garb. Erik raised his eyebrow, and Xavier smiled at him.

“You took your hand away from the wall, that's how I knew you were awake.”

Erik hadn't even realized he had been touching the metal. It was strange to have it all around but not to feel it – it was a little like he was blind himself.

But that someone had caught him moping about it made him clench his jaw. One couldn't afford that type of display of weakness, in Forged labor or prison.

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing and turned away from Xavier's fading smile to wash his hands and face at the tiny sink that stood opposite the door. For a minute the only sound in the bunk aside from the ever-present drone of the ship's systems was the pathetic trickle of water.

Eventually, Alex grumbled to Scott, “When the hell's breakfast anyway?”

–

Life on the _Caspartina_ was strictly regimented: 7-hour sleep cycle, 1-hour meals, basic ship duties, skills testing for work on Santo Marco, 2-hour rec time in the later part of the waking cycle, confined to quarters for all other hours. Supervised single-file walks along identical blank corridors with low ceilings and no viewports. Mind-numbing boredom, soul-crushing control.

Aside from the dampeners, in fact, it wasn't actually all that different than life in Forged labor – except for Xavier.

They were together for all meal rotations and rec. The only time they were separated was for work.

See, Xavier was an _educated_ man, which seemed to wield almost as much sway as any trick of telepathy. He was shuffled aside immediately on the first rotation of work and assigned nonessential administrative and data duties. The skills testing clerk, a simpering fool named Lakewell, assured him he would be “taken care of” on Santo Marco, as much as such a thing was possible in a place like that.

Erik was given custodial work.

–

The Summers brothers, like most others, had clearly already heard about Erik and were appropriately wary, but Xavier brokered a courteous exchange of the relevant information anyway.

They both could produce energy beams of terrible destructive power. Erik wanted to see it; somehow this interest did not endear him to them.

When they weren't freezing up at Erik's presence or voice, the brothers were sniping at each other. If the bickering grew too venomous, Xavier intervened as he had that first morning. Erik usually lay back on his top bunk when this happened, staring at the ceiling and listening to Xavier's measured tones until he fell asleep or was engaged in conversation, whichever happened first.

Usually the latter, to his continual surprise.

–

When Erik next saw Logan, his companion on the shuttle, they were both on their knees scrubbing the baseboard and floors of a guest quarters. The _Caspartina_ was docking briefly at Station 4 to pick up some kind of important colonel, and the guards said they wanted to see their own reflections by the end of the shift.

“God knows why, with faces like those,” Logan had muttered.

Watching Logan's powerful arms flex and move over the floor, how the tendons on his hands flickered with each scrub, Erik reached for the awareness he knew was lurking, silenced, somewhere within him. But there was nothing; the other man was completely normal for all that Erik could tell.

“Can you still extend the claws?” he asked after an hour of mostly silence.

“ _What –_ ” Logan jerked his head up and pinned him with a glare. “How'd you know about that?”

Ah. Erik was used to people knowing at least a little about his background, but clearly Logan didn't socialize enough to hear the gossip. He'd also forgotten how little they actually talked aboard the shuttle – and that Logan was registered as a non-mutant.

Erik kept his eyes on his spot on the floor. “You must have noticed I was a mutant – I sensed the metal. That's all. Haven't said anything to anyone.”

He could feel Logan's glare, see the flex of his knuckles a few feet away. After a moment, gruffly:

“They'll probably still come out, it's more of a physical reflex and they're not even the originals. But without my other mutation it'd have to be worth it to deal with the mess.

At that, Erik looked up curiously at the other man, who shrugged and continued scrubbing before curtly explaining, “I usually _heal_.”

–

They were allowed showers in the latter half of the cycle, a daily limit of three minutes of cold water. The stalls were waist-high and open along one side, no real hope of privacy, and Xavier upon seeing them only said, face studiously blank, “It’s just as well I can’t hear thoughts at the moment.”

It was far from pleasant, but nothing too unfamiliar to Erik after the labor camps. The lack of privacy was anathema to sensuality, but he still found his eye unwillingly caught on his new companion, on the gleam of water over the curve of his shoulders or at the base of his vulnerable throat.

After the first couple of days, Erik found it easiest to just shut his eyes against the sight and turn his face into the cold spray.

-

The Summers brothers never relaxed until they were all locked into their cell and left alone. Other prisoners made them tense; guards made them nervous. They were liked kicked dogs trying to avoid snapping out. Erik could recall that feeling from years ago, back when he was still more void than person and unused to his handlers.

Scott had, upon growing into his ability, kept his eyes closed and under wraps for years. He hadn't had an accident for a long time, he'd said quietly, not until a month ago. It sounded like a pitiful factory safety scoreboard.

How upsetting it must have been, Erik thought, to reset that number.

“My sister heard about the two of them after the accident,” Xavier explained one day over lunch. “They're orphans, had been fortunate and always kept together, but when Scott turned eighteen he had to leave the home. They refused him custody of Alex due to his sight disability. Tried to separate them.”

“So Scott opened his eyes.” Erik studied the boys still in line for their freeze-dried-and-reconstituted meals. Alex didn't handle everything for Scott, but he certainly hovered close and tried. Scott elbowed him twice, deliberately, on their way through the line. Sight _disability_ , Erik thought with a familiar edge of anger.

“No,” Xavier said heavily, “actually it was Alex who lost control first, blasted a hole through one of the supports of the home, half-collapsed the building, severely injuring five people and killing two. Scott didn't open his eyes until the men came to take Alex away to the station.”

Erik narrowed his eyes as he watched the brothers. “And Alex was charged as an adult? Even though he's – what? Fifteen?”

“Sixteen. I'm sure you're aware of the Wakandan laws governing mutants, Erik; they thought he posed a significant danger to others.”

“Hm.” Erik reassigned his gaze. “And where do _you_ enter in to all of this, Xavier?”

Xavier sighed. “I've told you, please, call me Charles. Only my lawyer calls me Xavier.” Erik just continued looking at him and after a moment, Xavier shrugged. “I run a ship – a... school, of sorts. For our kind. I'm sure it will surprise you not at all that many of us often find ourselves in trouble with no one to turn to. I try to help them.”

“ _Help?_ ” Erik sat back on the bench, gesturing to the ship and the mass of misery clad in gray around them with his dead tin fork. “Ah, yes, I see.”

Xavier was not at all put off by his skepticism. “Plan A didn't work down on Wakanda,” he admitted.

“And Plan B was to get yourself booked for a one-way trip to the most miserable place in the Vega System?” Erik returned to his food tray, shaking his head. “And here I thought I was in the presence of a smart man – Charles.”

Charles smiled. “I'm working on it.”

By working on it, Charles apparently meant that he planned to escape from the ship with the brothers. It came out not too long after their discussion in the mess, because Charles was strange and wanted to share seemingly everything with Erik. The plan itself was not a surprise – Erik knew it had to be something along those lines after that first morning – but the degree of certitude in Charles' voice did something to him.

“Preferably before we pass Station 5, but _definitely_ before we leave the Outback. Things become exponentially more difficult once we enter the Rim, if not impossible. They say no ship can navigate through it without Imperial maps and authentication codes.” Charles flashed a smile. “And I've got some connections but _that_... well.”

The Rim was separated from the rest of the system by a dense asteroid belt and Sentinel Station, a relatively new installation of synchronized orbiting substations with unparalleled detection systems. The company that built it, SCL, had had some sort of dealings with Shaw Industries in the past, so even Erik, who had only a rudimentary knowledge of the system past the quinary orbit, could see the logic behind Charles's reasoning.

After that, he had two countdowns going in his head: one for Santo Marco and another for when Charles hoped to leave.

–

He’d looked up the Rim once, years ago; he’d wanted to see actual pictures of this Santo Marco people whispered about. There weren’t many photographs available that weren’t from scientific journals discussing flora or geologic formations. So that was his first impression: it wasn’t a place for _people_ , or at least not a place a where people _mattered_.

Eventually he found a few photos from an article more than 15 years old, published by the Times on Galador. It was some investigative piece on prisoner abuse charges that had went no where as far he could recall.

The pictures were grainy, the flash and lens not able to entirely make up for the dim lighting conditions that far out in the System. But the images were clear enough to get a point across: a pair of weathered, solemn faces with hollowed cheeks standing against a barren landscape. A ring of brittle bodies around a rustic fireplace. A dead-eyed woman holding a baby (small, too small) with ghost-white skin.

A place of nightmares. That’s where they were bound.

–

The female prisoners operated on a rotation opposite to their own; the only overlap was the last meal of the day, where they had breakfast while the men ate dinner. The distinction was in name only as the same food was served to both.

Erik would have paid the whole thing no mind – he didn't care to socialize either – except that Charles was very curious about the last mutant from their shuttle. She sat well over on the women's side of the room, her hair a shade lighter than her jumpsuit and attention-catching even from far-off. When Charles determinedly started over on the fifth day, Erik only accompanied him because he remembered the strength rating of her Forge Restraints.

They were not forbidden, per se, from sitting with prisoners of the opposite sex, but it was certainly not encouraged. Many of the women were outright hostile to any man's approach, so under the guards' eyes most interactions took the form of leering and catcalling.

The mutant of interest sat with three other prisoners who immediately got up and moved away when Charles and Erik approached. Erik was used to provoking this sort of response from other people, but Charles looked badly disconcerted. The woman, still placidly seated, watched the play of emotion over his face with raised eyebrows.

“Don't blame them for being wary. Many of the people on this ship have done terrible things.” Her dark eyes shifted slightly from Charles to Erik.

He said nothing but took his seat beside Charles across from her. Charles quickly recovered his composure.

“I don't know if you remember me from the shuttle – ”

“Oh, I remember you,” the woman said dryly.

Charles flashed a self-deprecating smile. “Not a big fan of flying, as I'm sure you noticed. My name is Charles Xavier, and this is my colleague Erik Lehnsherr.” _Colleague_. Erik tried to keep a straight face. “I thought it would be good to get acquainted, since we have something in common.”

She raised her eyebrows, clearly amused. “I find that hard to believe.”

Erik understood her skepticism; a glancing observation of Charles only highlighted the ways in which he was out of place on the ship, from the way he carried himself and spoke to how he combed his hair. The knee-jerk impulse of anyone would be to tell him to go to hell.

“I wanted to get to know the other mutants aboard the ship.”

The humor in her face quieted and she looked at them cautiously. “Why?”

Charles spread his hands, honest and serious. “Call it solidarity.” When she still didn't respond, he added quietly, “Call it _strategy_.” At that, Erik shifted uneasily in his seat; Charles was far too quick to trust.

The gambit, reckless as it might have been, seemed to do the trick. The woman extended her hand, elegant long fingers tipped with evenly short nails, and shook Charles's.

“Ororo Munroe,” she said, and then, meaningfully: “ _Storm_.”

After, as they lined up to be marched back to their cell, Erik interrupted Charles's somewhat critical musings on the growing fashion of adopting new mutant names with an impatient whisper.

“She said she was arrested for _pirating_ , Charles, you have no idea what kind of person – ”

Charles scoffed. “Don't be ridiculous, I read her mind on the shuttle. She is not the type to either spill secrets or betray a trust, especially to _these_ guards. She's loyal – but beyond that, she's smart.”

“Right,” Erik nodded, even though Charles couldn't see him, because this was the person he had suddenly become, “And you picked all that up, even though you were drunk?”

“ _Yes_. I was drunk, Erik, not dead,” the other man threw over his shoulder.

–

It was during one of those very first couple of days that Xavier discovered the chess set in the rec compartment and started to excitedly set up a game.

“Do you play?” he had asked Erik, seating himself and lining up the black pawns.

“I... do?” Erik had never played as far as he could recall, but the movements were right there in this mind. A relic from Before, then. He wondered who he had played with. Had a parent taught him? A sibling? A friend?

Xavier glanced at him quizzically, an expression Erik had already become familiar with in the very short time they had known each other. Erik smirked down at him; Xavier was very obvious when he was wishing he could use his telepathy. His face was too open.

They set the game and Erik hesitantly took his first move, pushing the queen pawn forward. For the next several minutes there was silence as they took their measure of each other. Erik felt a little like he was stretching out after hunching a long time.

“So,” Xavier said eventually, “you haven't told me much about your mutation.”

“You didn't pluck that from my mind before? Or overhear the rumors?”

Xavier smiled. “Bits and pieces, but I'd prefer to hear it from you.”

Erik narrowed his eyes down at the board, considering. “If it wasn't for the dampeners, I'd show you – do something you'd never be able to forget.”

A pause, and then Xavier leaned forward, eyes bright and fixed on Erik. “Oh?”

Erik nodded, thinking it over with satisfaction. “I'd crumple this ship like a tin can and send it straight into Vega.”

The smile dropped from Xavier's face.

They finished the game in silence; Erik lost.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_The_ G.S. Caspartina  
 _Backsystem, passing Station 4, en route to System Rim  
Date 3684.1_

 

It was just a variation on a theme: a nameless anxiety stealing his breath, the isolated sound of panicked breathing in his ears. He could feel the metal encasing him, closing him off, but was powerless to stop it. Past it – a line of people, faces recognizable but not by name or place. He could reach them, if he wanted to.

He wanted to, he was sure of it.

He never did though.

–

“ _Erik_ _._ ”

Erik snapped awake.

He didn't move, despite every inch of his body thrumming with adrenaline and the alien press of a hand on his shoulder. It was standard post-nightmare behavior; any drastic movements during the night were under suspicion of being escape attempts and treated accordingly by Shaw's team. The body learned to be still.

That instinctual, terrified stillness had gradually bled over into other reactions beyond his control. Sometimes, he would just. Stop moving. Didn't know why or how to start again.

But this time he managed to turn his face slightly so he could see through the dimness to where Charles was standing next to the bunk. The sole illumination in the room was from the safety lighting of the corridor through the window in the door, which cast strange shadows over Charles's face.

The darkness lent a false comfort, Erik thought; the two of them could almost have been anywhere – anywhere at all, though Erik's imagination was not rich enough to conjure up a specific place.

Even silent with his face shrouded, Charles had an innately calming presence. Erik could only imagine what it was like when he wasn’t mentally muzzled.

His hand was still resting on Erik's shoulder from when he'd shaken Erik awake. Erik didn't know what to do about that, so he did nothing. He wasn't sure if Charles was even aware that he'd left it there. Its weight pressed in on his thoughts, though, and he almost forgot why his stomach was tight with anxiety. Almost.

“You were having a nightmare.” Charles's voice was quiet, pitched so as to not disturb their cell companions.

“Yes.” Erik blinked; he normally didn't move or talk in his sleep. “How could you tell?”

Instead of answering, Charles withdrew his hand from Erik's shoulder and agitatedly ran it through his hair. Erik, still off-guard, followed the movement with his eyes. “I should be able to help your nightmares – help _you_ .” Charles' mouth twisted bitterly, an expression so alien to his face that Erik had to stare. “But I'm useless without _it_. All I can do is watch you suffer.”

For a moment Erik was so confused, he didn't know how to respond. It was such a strangely entitled statement – to worry about being able to do something at all! He couldn't even begin to fathom such an emotion.

“That's all any of us can ever do.” And then, with a peculiar mounting anger, “What do you think it will be like on Santo Marco? Not even telepathy can combat that kind of deprivation. Get used to it.”

Charles turned and looked at him steadily. In the dim light his expression were unreadable. “You don't think I'll get us all out of here before then.” _You don't believe me,_ said the undercurrent in his voice, almost as clear as if he could speak it to Erik's mind after all.

Erik exhaled and turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. Charles had never explicitly stated his intention to bring Erik along before, and Erik had just assumed – well, now it seemed like a foolish assumption, given Charles's personality. He was glad, suddenly, that Charles _couldn't_ read his mind at the moment, couldn't witness the absurdly warm feeling brought forth by his inclusion.

However, now that Charles _had_ stated his intentions, Erik couldn't keep up his outward giddy charade of confidence. It had been nice, for that short while.

“It's not a personal judgment, Charles. It's impossible to escape a dampening ship in the middle of _space_. Not unless you want to die.”

Charles muttered something too low for Erik to catch. He smiled slightly anyway at the frustrated tone. Charles wasn't used to being told no, he didn't think. He wondered where Charles came from, what loving and eccentric family produced a man such as he.

“You think I would have gotten on that shuttle if I didn't have a plan to get off of it?” Charles finally said.

“I think you were drunk and operating on an inflated sense of confidence.” His muscles were still aching from the tension of his nightmare. Erik didn't want to talk about it anymore. So he said, with a false sort of levity, “You haven't told me the story behind that, by the way, don't think I haven't noticed.”

But Charles didn't take the bait. “I didn't think you would be so quick to give up,” he said quietly.

At that, Erik tensed, jaw working as if he'd been hit. After a moment he sat up, swinging his legs over to dangle from the bunk so he could glare at Charles head-on. Charles, surprised at the sudden movement, stared up at him, but he didn't move back.

“You need to remember that you don't know _a_ _damn_ _thing_ about me. I don't care what you think you _picked up_ on that shuttle.”

Charles looked like he wanted to protest, but after a long moment he bit it back, nodding. Then he said, tone altogether softer than it had been previously, “So – please. Tell me.” He stepped forward, not close enough to even brush against Erik's legs, but Erik was keenly aware of the proximity all the same. Charles's eyes, wide and earnest, bored into Erik's even through the dimness of the cell. _Tell me_ , he might have said.

Faced with such open curiosity, Erik could only summon a gaping vacancy in place of where a proper life story should be. _I can't,_ Erik might have replied, _look and see for yourself._

It was a frustrating contradiction, his life. He didn't want to be defined by his mindwipe, but it was also the only thing in a decade of subjugation that he could cling to as irrefutably _his_ , terrible as it was. He wasn't about to start talking about – about Shaw – and the mining camps were a bore, so that left very little to actually talk about.

His mouth was dry; it made his voice rough. “There's... not much to tell.” He looked away but could still see Charles stiffen, no doubt ready to argue. “It's just... it's just been a long life, that's all. Ten years of Forged labor in the mines, and nothing before that. I was wiped.” He tried to make his tone clinical, removed. _Reasonable_ . “So you see, there's actually nothing to give up _on_.”

Charles voice was muted, “You remember nothing?”

Erik shrugged mechanically, “Sometimes there are flashes of... familiarity. Deja vu over silly, inconsequential things. But nothing firm, no.”

Charles did move forward then, bracing his hands against the metal bar of Erik's bunk. He said nothing, but bowed his head until it pressed against Erik's leg.

“Are you all right, Charles?” He ventured after a distracted moment.

“I – no.”

Erik allowed another few seconds to pass, looking down at him, feeling his closeness like a mounting itch. He was about to speak when Charles continued.

“It’s just – _wiping._ It shouldn't be legal. Shouldn't be allowed,” Charles said, voice muffled. “It... it's just monstrous.”

And then Erik couldn't speak, not for a moment or two.

It was a pretty sentiment. He'd heard it before in his brushes with the debates on Galador. Fly-by activists – students and academics, professional couples who thought themselves hip, part-time bleeding hearts – they'd talk a good game about mental autonomy and then go out for dinner and a show.

Charles was sincere, he had no doubt about that, but such arguments about legality and morals had very little to do with Erik or Erik’s life.

He’d met a woman once, about six years back – not a fellow Forged, but an outsider. A local journalist from Madripoor who had lived in one of those nameless towns Shaw Industries had strafed with land leases and mining jobs, a region that ended up with poisoned groundwater and a populace strung out on poverty and painkillers.

Erik had known her for two months, a grand total of twenty meet-ups in the pub. They’d gotten on, as much as Erik was able to get on with people he was only allowed to talk to for an hour or two before being fetched back to the mining camp.

Magda hadn’t cared about his Restraints or that he was a mutant, which was rare enough that it had taken several conversations before Erik could adjust.

Of course, it turned out that the she had been looking for information about the camp, its layout and schedule. One evening she hadn't shown up at the pub, and Erik returned to find the barracks had been turned into a crater.

Thirteen dead, seven of them Forged. Magda was disappeared somewhere, likely killed. In the following days, as they were clearing out the rubble and uncovering the bodies, Erik heard gossip amongst the guards. Whispers about a young daughter from the town, lungs honeycombed by Vibranium Pneumoconiosis, dead five months past.

So Erik knew the truth about monsters; they were unstoppable as long as they had a cause. You don’t argue with them, you take them out any way you can – by killing, by wiping – or, Erik reflected as he sat there in the dark cell, by shipping them off somewhere very far away.

Finally, he said to Charles, noncommittal, “I just wanted you to understand... why I might not be as hopeful as you are about all this. Things don't generally – improve over time, in my experience.”

“But you've always been alone before. Now you have allies.” Charles paused, still staring at the floor. “ _Friends_.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Friends? Is that what we are?”

“Of course.” Charles was firm, almost defiant in his response. “Look, we have the same cause here. I'm just asking that you be willing to fight for it.”

“Well, now – _Charles_ ,” Erik stared unblinking long enough for Charles to raise his head and meet Erik's eyes. Erik started to smile. “You never said anything about _fighting_.”

–

What was most difficult, what Erik didn't anticipate, was the downtime.

The camps had labor control down to a science. The foremen knew just how much socialization to allow to quell discontent, how often to shuffle people around to prevent any organization or build-up of relations, and, of course, how hard to work everyone so they were too exhausted to do anything but take their beer and rest with relief instead of resentment. Erik was used to the camps.

But on the _Caspartina –_ he'd never had so much time away from the drudgery of work, time to just sit and _think_ . Time to be aware of his surroundings, the people, his life. Himself and the gaping emptiness that it totaled. (A silly feeling, he thought, the kind that wouldn't occur to someone with a complete picture of their life. Real people didn't need to think about whether they were a _person_ . They just _were_.)

But there he was, waking up at early shift. There he was at breakfast, at work shift, in the small moments when he wasn't being ordered around. Custodial work required a poverty of effort compared to the mines, where he had used his mutation constantly – deliberately or not, the awareness of metal had always been there. In many ways, he _was_ his mutation; it wasn't something he'd ever bothered to give thought to before.

But on the ship he was nothing. All he had were his thoughts, and he could barely take it.

Which was where Charles came in. And Logan, when their shifts matched up. Storm to talk with at dinner. The Summers brothers for a little detached entertainment. People, in other words.

He'd never really had them before either.

–

One shift in the second week, while they were cleaning some nonessential machinery in the cargo bay, a dog tag slipped out from Logan's jumpsuit. Erik glanced at it curiously: _458 25 243 / WOLVERINE_. The detailing and number system was dissimilar to Erik's tattoo, but he wondered.

“Forged labor?” Erik asked, nodding at the dog tag. “I thought they didn't know you were a mutant.”

Logan paused before tucking the tag roughly back into his jumpsuit. He flicked his eyes meaningfully to the Jackson and Harding, the shift guards standing in the doorway. “ _They_ don't, but someone did. Once. I don't know what I did, but I've had these for as long as I can remember.”

Erik went cold. _I don't know what I did._ “And how long is that?”

“Well, the numbers are old enough that the processing clerk bought that they were my father's – only reason I was allowed to keep them. But I've had them about thirty years.”

Erik jerked his head up to stare. “ _Thirty_ – how old are you?”

Logan bared his teeth. “You're asking the wrong person.”

Jackson shouted over for them to keep working, so Erik resumed scrubbing with force.

He looked at his hands, calloused and chapped as they worked the crevices of the machine. His pinky finger was slightly crooked – probably from a break that didn't heal cleanly, a Shaw Industries medic had once told him. He'd always wondered how he'd broken it. If the crookedness meant he had had no family or if they were just too poor to go see a doctor.

“Do you ever stop wondering about Before?” He asked abruptly.

“Never.” Logan paused, looked at him speculatively under a furrowed brow. “So you were wiped. When?”

Erik hasn't really talked about it since those first several months so long ago, before he'd learned the hard way that it was best not to ask questions or try to find answers. On this ship he seemed to be talking about little else. “Ten or eleven years ago. The exact date is kind of... hazy.”

Logan just looked at him. “You must've been just a kid.”

“No,” Erik shook his head. “I was an adult. Early twenties.” He met Logan's eyes. “I don't know what I did either. From the little Sh – ” he broke off rough, shook his head, cleared his throat. “From what I've gathered, it must have been something terrible.”

Logan's gaze shuttered, obviously thinking of his own unknown past and whatever clues he had found. “Bub, one of the only guarantees in the system is that the past is worse than we can imagine.” He glanced over at the guards and bared his teeth in another smile. “Aren't we lucky that they lifted that burden from us.”

They scrubbed on for a few moments of silence before Erik spoke again, an awkward attempt at levity. “Well, you know, our goals are only achieved through hard work and a clear mind.”

Logan stared at him for a moment in complete surprise before barking out a laugh. “We had that poster in our mess hall too.”

Erik smirked. “Wakanda wasn't so bad, it was only in the equipment room. On Galador it was in every bathroom stall.”

“Just the thing to think about when you're taking a shit.”

Harding ordered them to be quiet again, this time with a pointed pat to his holster. The threatening move was interrupted and quickly transformed into salutes as two uniformed figures entered the bay via the crew hatch.

After a second of startled staring across the bay, Logan ducked his head and turned his body so he was mostly hidden behind the machine. Erik automatically shifted to block him from view.

“What is it?” Erik asked him.

“I – dunno, I – I think I know him.”

“ _Know_ _him_ ?” Erik glanced over his shoulder. “One of the uniforms? Know, as in, _what_ – ”

“I can't be sure,” Logan snapped, breath coming heavily through his nose. His eyes were darting back and forth on a minute path; he wasn't really seeing what was in front of him. “But I don't really wanna find out if I'm right, so _shut_ _the_ _hell_ _up_ before they notice.”

“Which one looks – ?” Erik looked again and froze.

“The one on the left – the colonel.” Logan cursed. “Strangest goddamn feeling, it must be from Before.” His voice had a peculiar choked sound, half-longing and half-dread.

But Erik was no longer listening.

The man on the left was thick-waisted and gray and held himself rigidly upright – the bearing of a senior military man. Erik didn't know what the ranking on his sleeve meant, but he'd take Logan's word for it. But the man on the right – tall with a brown crew cut and spectacles – Erik did know _his_ rank.

“I know him,” he said.

Logan glanced at him, careful to keep his face hidden from the other side of the bay, “The colonel?”

“No, the other one... Captain Gyrich, I guess. I never knew his name before, just his rank.”

The last time Erik had seen him, Gyrich was dining with Sebastian Shaw as Erik stood in an electric stockade outside the dining room window. He'd had to listen to Shaw laugh at Gyrich's off-color jokes and negotiate contracts for an hour before they retired to some interior room. Later Shaw had gloated that he'd secured a major merger with a transport company, another link in the chain for his goal of cornering weapons manufacturing in the Backsystem.

That was one year ago.

After ten minutes Gyrich and the colonel had moved on through the bay to inspect the shuttles, but Erik couldn't relax, even after they'd left the hangar entirely. Shift change came and went and he was still half-blind and choked at the collar, barely able to respond even to Charles’s concerned questions.

He was on a Shaw Industries ship.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_ The  _ G.S. Caspartina   
_Backsystem, approaching Outback orbit, en route to System Rim  
Date 3685.8_

 

Charles frowned down at his hands, obviously deep in thought. After a long moment, he said, “Well, it makes sense from a workforce perspective – Shaw Industries uses Forged labor, and a majority of former Forged laborers end up in the prison system within five years of the end of their labor term. Shaw and Gyrich were sealing up a market.”

Erik stared over at Charles. After several seconds Charles registered the reaction and rolled his eyes. He threw his hands out to his sides. “I'm not  _ defending  _ them, Erik, I'm just explaining their logic.” 

Erik did not know how to express the strong and immediate thought that even  _ understanding  _ _ their  _ _ logic _ felt like a betrayal of some kind – but thinking about it in those terms made him feel vaguely embarrassed, self-conscious of his own obviously bruised perceptions. He couldn't argue, so he looked away, irritated. 

Charles continued after a moment, quietly, “I don't agree with it. In fact, I find it reprehensible in the highest – but one thing any telepath learns early on is that _everything_ is subjective.”

“It's fine, Charles, I'm not arguing with you.”

Charles frowned at him for a moment, obviously frustrated. Erik didn't care to continue the discussion, so he moved up to his bunk.

–

“How'd you get caught, anyway?” Erik asked Storm the next night.

Charles was temporarily across the room lecturing the Summers boys on keeping their heads down; Alex had a habit of talking back to guards and larger prisoners and was likely to leave the ship as blind as his brother if he kept it up. This pressing discussion had left Erik and Storm sitting across from each other in a somewhat stiff silence.

He continued, “I just mean, what's a pirate doing near the quinary orbit?”

She considered him for a moment, chin up so her eyes could look down at him; like most people, she never seemed to like talking directly to him unless Charles was there to ease the conversation along. “Seventy-five percent of trade in the system takes place in Proximal Vega. Is it so strange that someone would want a piece of that?”

“Proximal also has most of the Imperial forces in the system,” he replied easily. “Even the Hellfire Club sticks to the Outback, or so I hear. Seems risky is all – uncharacteristically so, if you'll forgive my assumption.”

Storm's mouth twisted, “Yeah, well. It was a special run, a favor. Bonafide, one-of-a-kind, life debt sort of deal.” She frowned slightly down at her empty bowl. “Didn't exactly work out like I'd planned, that's all.”

“Does the person know?” Erik kept an eye on Charles, who was getting up and returning to their table.

“Hm?” Storm glanced up.

“This person that you owed a debt to,” Erik elaborated. “Do they know where you are now?”

Her expression darkened. “Oh, she knows. She watched them take me down, cruiser and all.”

Charles was stopped by a guard as he was halfway back across the room. Erik tensed, and Storm noticed and looked around.

“ – think you move around too often, Xavier. You think this's some kind of social club?” The guard was saying.

Erik couldn't hear Charles's response, but judging from the absurd gesticulations he was employing, it was probably just as well that he couldn't. After a few more words exchanged, the guard impatiently shoved Charles on his way.

“What was all that about?” Storm asked as Charles arrived back at the table.

“I thought you said you were _good_ with people,” Erik said.

Charles looked mildly offended. “I _am_. Usually I know just the thing to say.” Charles glanced between the two knowing expressions and rolled his eyes. He sat down and started poking at his tray of food. “So, you two talk about anything interesting?”

“No,” Storm said, pushing her own tray away. “Lehnsherr's a terrible conversationalist.”

Charles looked to Erik for explanation, but he just shrugged and shook his head minutely.

He had to admit to himself, part of him felt a little thrill of knowing something that Charles didn't, even if it was useless information.

–

A few days later, Erik and Logan were let off from work early because the guards were impatient to join some Genoshan festivity on the barracks level. Erik returned to his cell unit, expecting to stare at the ceiling or pace for a while, but instead found Charles already there.

Charles glanced up from his knee, where he had been staring down hard at a piece of paper, chalk in hand. “Oh, hello Erik. You're off-shift early.”

Erik raised his eyebrows. “Aren't you as well?”

“Hm? Oh,” Charles shrugged. “Private Lakewell usually lets me off early if I've completed the data entry for the day. Which I always do.” He smiled up at Erik.

“Must be nice,” Erik said, noncommittal. He nodded at the paper. “What you working on there?”

Charles looked back down. “Calculating contingencies – so I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little bit to enjoy my stunning conversation. Do you mind?”

Erik hesitated before lowering himself to sit beside him. “Not at all – but maybe I can help you?”

Charles blinked, clearly startled. “Oh, well – yes, certainly.” He shoved the paper too far forward, where it threatened to flutter off the bed, then pulled it back and hovered awkwardly with his hand still planted over the writing. Erik, who had never seen the other man so out-of-sorts, started to smirk.

“Why, Charles, do you perhaps have some control issues?”

“What? No,” Charles continued to look absurdly flustered. “No,” he said again, firmly. He took his hand off the page and shifted his chair so they could both look at it clearly. Erik began to read it.

After a moment, Charles said quietly, “I'm perhaps not used to... having someone around to share these things with.”

Part of Erik wanted almost to laugh – Charles talked like he was sharing some personal poetry rather than strategic escape schematics – but he bit it back. After a moment, glancing up to see Charles's sober expression and red ears, he was glad he did.

Maybe because Charles was one of the most privileged men he'd ever known or maybe because he was always so self-assured, Erik sometimes forgot that he was also operating without his mutation. And perhaps that anyone can be lonely.

“I'm not one of your crew, Charles, nor one of your students.” Charles's eyes darted up to meet his and they stared at each other for a second. Erik quickly broke the gaze, looking down at the paper. “Besides, this plan concerns me as well, right?”

“...Yes, of course it does.”

It was several minutes before Erik felt Charles's gaze return to the paper, however.

A little while later, just before the boys were due back from work, Erik attempted to broach a topic he'd been curious about for a while: namely, Charles's background, where he was from and why he decided a school for mutants was the best course of action for a rich telepath.

Charles smirked faintly down at the paper, but his gaze became slightly more fixed than was warranted by words they'd spent the past hour pouring over. Eventually he said, “It's a long story.”

Erik narrowed his eyes and smirked. “Well, I don't exactly have anywhere to be at the moment, you know. Here. On this prison ship.” He cocked his head when Charles didn't roll his eyes or say anything back. “Are you really going to play mysterious and not tell me?”

Charles let out an exasperated noise and climbed to his feet. “Don't be ridiculous, Erik. That has nothing to with it.” He bit his lip as Erik stood up as well. “There are no – _mysteries_. I just don't want to think about my school and my – _family_ – while in these circumstances. It just makes it all harder.”

Erik couldn't relate, but the look in Charles's eyes was sincere and open. He nodded and raised his hands to signal acceptance.

“Think of it,” Charles said with a difficult smile. “As something to look forward to.”

–

Erik had been considering bringing up the escape plan to Logan. He was, after all, a fellow mutant and a fellow ex-Forged. Besides, his outrageous rudeness to the guards made Erik grin – or it did until the day where he showed up to shift with half his face tenderized into a dark blue and purple mass of bruises.

“I'd say it's not as bad as it looks, but I wouldn't know,” he shrugged at Erik. “I've never had an injury that lasted longer than a few minutes before.”

“What happened?” He glanced over Logan's shoulder to their shift guard duo, two middle-aged men with bored, flat faces. He clenched his fists, feeling that familiar  _ useless _ anger course through him. 

“Cell block got a little rowdy this morning, there was a fight between one of my cellmates, Daniel, and some jackass further along the corridor.” Logan tipped his head. “I think it was about cheese? They both work in the kitchens.” He shook his head, “Anyway, Daniel was getting choked out, I tried to intervene, and the guards clocked us all.”

Erik narrowed his eyes. Everyone knew the guards were quick with their batons, but this was –

“I didn't hear about a fight at breakfast.” News about that sort of thing travels fast, mostly because there's so little else to talk about and entertainment inevitably ran towards the bloodthirsty end. Their first week out from Wakanda, a woman had strangled a cellmate, and it was all over the ship by the end of the next day.

Logan pushed past him, grabbing a bucket and facemask. As he passed, he grunted, “Just leave it, Lehnsherr, it ain't worth it.”

But Erik persisted. “Which guards?” All of them were bad, but some were worse than others and it was important to know who to look out for.

Logan scratched his beard, glancing back to the pair at the door. “Uh, Espina. Bartlet. And Zyrick.”

Erik gritted his teeth all through latrine duty. Beatings were fairly common on prison ships; there wasn't exactly an easy way for prisoners to communicate with the outside system and report violations or abuse. On the worst ships they happened for no reason, as just a way for the crew to pass the time and keep prisoners in line. And then there were the ships where they happened as some sort of sick reverse-currency.

It was bad news either way. They hadn't had any trouble yet, but Erik was also quartered with three of the greenest prisoners on the whole damn ship.

It was only a matter of time.


	6. Chapter 6

_The_ G.S. Caspartina  
 _Backsystem, passing Outback orbit, en route to System Rim  
Date 3689.2_

 

It was all they talked about for the next several days. Everything became about The Plan.

It quickly became apparent that there were some differences in their manner of approach.

–

They had to be silent while filing back to their quarters in the late shift, but as soon as the door slid closed and the guards moved away down the corridor, the two of them were debating again.

“Well how do _you_ propose disabling them, then?” Charles said, exasperated, throwing his hands out from his sides. It wasn't the first time he'd asked, and it wasn't the first time Erik replied.

He folded his arms, and tried very hard to sound as _patronizing as he possibly could_. “I know you're leery of bloodshed, Charles, but I don't see how we can possibly get to those dampening controls without taking out the guards between us and Deck 7 – ”

“Don't you go painting me as some wide-eyed pacifist, Erik, just because I don't _salivate_ over the prospect of – ”

“ _Whoa_ ,” Alex said over in the corner. Scott elbowed him into silence.

“Is that what you think? That I just want to hurt people?” Erik clenched his jaw and stared Charles down.

Charles sighed, ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “No, of course not, but you'd hardly be unjustified in feeling _that way_ about the crew of _this ship –_ ”

“Then what is your problem with my plan, exactly?”

“It's too risky!” Charles slapped one palm against the other to emphasize his points. “There are too many _guards –_ too many _doors_ to get through before they sound the general alarm. We'd never make it.”

“And your plan has too many vulnerabilities, too many moving parts. We can't just _manipulate_ our way to the controls. Not, as you say, on _this ship._ ”

Charles shook his head, frustrated. “I've been cultivating a report with Jackson and Harding, I can get a falsified pass from Lakewell – ”

Erik snapped, “You're not telepathic, Charles.”

Charles stared at him, mute and pale.

Erik felt a little sick but pushed on. “Not here, not right now. They did that to you. And you cannot guarantee other's behavior, _believe_ _me_ , people can be very unpredictable when you are not hotwired right into their emotions and thoughts.” He tried a slight grin, but it felt wrong on his face. He didn't know how do gentle. “I know you're a charming bastard, but you can't rely on that for something like this. _We_ can't.”

After a moment Charles nodded, looking away. Erik, tense, watched him.

“Uh, sir? Professor?” Scott spoke up from the corner, where he and his brother were still standing up against the wall, avoiding the harsh voices and loud fight. Charles blinked as he looked over.

“Oh boys, I apologize for all the shouting – yes, sorry, what is it?”

Scott licked his lips, straightened up and stepped away from his brother. His face was directed slightly too far to the right, but the strength in his voice made it not matter. “Dampening fields are notoriously ... finicky. Sir.”

Charles looked over at Erik, baffled, and Erik shrugged back. Over Scott's shoulder, Alex scowled at them.

“Speak plainly, Scott, if you would. As you've just heard, Erik and I have been having a rather exhausting fight about the matter, and I'd prefer you to just cut to the chase.”

“Yes – sorry, sir – what I meant is that they could perhaps be tampered without someone having to be right at the control system. Dampeners, you see, they're very susceptible to damages caused by solar winds and bursts of radiation – it's why the _Caspartina_ and other deep system vessels dock well away from a planet's immediate orbit.”

Erik was still confused, but Charles looked like euphoria was dawning over him in slow motion.

Scott, unable to see Charles's expression, continued in the same calm and methodical voice, relaying facts as if they weren't causing a heart attack of excitement in the man five feet away. “You've told us a little about Ms. Munroe, that she can control weather – maybe even solar winds? If we could get her outside of the ship even for a brief time, then she might be able to – ”

“Ororo could take out the dampeners.” Charles breathed. He laughed suddenly, slapped a hand to his forehead, and fell back onto his bunk. “In a matter of minutes she could allow us all control over our mutations again, we just need to get her outside the ship.” He turned his head on his pillow and looked over at Erik with a dazzling smile. Erik leaned against the bunk and looked down at him with a raised eyebrow.

“We will have to face some guards to get her safely out of a hatch in a suit, you realize.”

Charles waved a hand airily, “We'll pick the most repugnant shift, you and Logan can knock them out, just like you wanted.”

Erik continued, “... And we'll still need to work out how we're to get through the requisite doors.” He tilted his head, “I don't suppose your connections could help with that?”

Charles continued to smile up at him.

Alex made a rude noise over in the corner. “Scott's the one who came up with the plan, why're you two acting so fucking _smug_ all of a sudden?”

–

A few days later, they were having dinner over at Storm's table, but she was quiet, eating mechanically and yawning every few seconds, looking like was about to fall asleep over her breakfast.

“Everything all right with you?” Charles asked in concern, which she waved off.

“Fine, it's fine. It's just the crew's doing some kind of heavy-duty maintenance in our wing, it was making this ungodly racket all night long. Don't know how I'll stay awake for the next shift.” She stared glassily down at her bowl for a few seconds before blinking and taking another bite. Erik and Charles exchanged a look.

“Do you know what they're doing?” Charles asked after a moment.

Storm paused between taking another bite, her spoon hovering uncertainly in the air between her bowl and mouth. “Duct work, I think. Trying to find some sort of micro leak.”

Erik said, “I thought they had sensors for that sort of thing.”

She shrugged. “I don't know, maybe the leak's too small for the computer to pin down.” She glanced between them. “What's with the interrogation?”

“It's nothing, I'm sorry, Ororo,” Charles hastened to say. “We're just trying to... weigh different options. For...” He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully. “We've come up with something, and we think you are vital for it to work.”

Her eyes widened. “Well then, I think I'm about due for an update. We're _two weeks_ away from the Rim, gentlemen.”

Charles leaned forward, “Well, for a start, how do you feel about space walking?”

She looked back and forth between the two of them, and then a sly smile appeared on her face. “I've been on boarding parties since before puberty. Space walking comes to me as natural as breathing.”

Charles reacted to such casual admittance of aggressive piracy with a blinding smile. “That's marvelous to hear. We have a plan to share with you.”

–

Back in their cell at the end of the night, the brothers occupied the sink for washing their faces while Erik and Charles waited quietly side-by-side on the bottom bunk for their turn.

Scott had just taken off his head bandage and was carefully cupping water up to his tightly closed eyes when Alex chose to give his input on the escape plan.

“We haven't talked about what I'll be doing during the escape,” he said. Scott immediately straightened, spluttering and dripping. Eyes on his brother and a scowl already forming, Alex continued, “I think I should be the one to go outside the ship with Storm – ”

“ _Absolutely not_ – ” Scott began, grabbing for his head bandage.

“I'm not in the habit of endangering students, Alex,” Charles said. “That's simply not going to happen.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not your student,” Alex said shortly, ignoring his brother's grimace, “I can fight _and_ I can take the radiation out there – ”

“We don't know that for sure,” Scott said, shaking his head. “Public testing isn't always accurate for secondary traits.”

“You just don't want to admit that it's a good idea – ”

“Actually,” Erik cut the brothers' argument off. “It really only makes sense if I go with Storm.” Everyone looked over at him as he stood up. “If something happens to her tether or suit, and she goes spinning off into the black, I'm the only one who can reliably fetch her back.” He waggled his fingers. “I think prioritizing the safety of our point person is paramount, don't you?”

Scott tilted his head in assent and said immediately, “Yes, exactly, good thinking.” His relief was strong enough that he didn't even sound stiff in speaking directly to Erik. Alex scowled and looked like he wished he could stalk off; prison was real tough on teenagers.

Charles studied Erik for a moment, long enough to make Erik forcibly hold back a swallow. He wasn't, however, expecting what came out of his friend's mouth next.

“Is it a stretch to say that you've never been out of Forge Restraints? That you can remember, that is?” Charles added. His expression and voice were completely neutral.

He'd been thinking of scant else since he first thought of volunteering. “What of it?”

“Well, it might be a bit of a ... shock, is all, when you first get outside the dampening field. You'll need to prepare your mind for that, and remain in control.”

Erik didn't like the lecturing tone. “What exactly do you think I'm going to do?”

Charles waved his hand and rolled his eyes, “It's not like that – I'm just warning you that it may be a little overwhelming at first.”

“Well, consider me forewarned.” Erik finally shifted his stance and folded his arms. “Now – what of after Storm disables the dampeners? How long do we estimate we have before Sentinel Station notices a lapse in communications?”

Charles shook his head dismissively. “Not a problem. Soon as the dampeners lift I'll put the crew on hold. Shouldn't be an issue to fake communications – give them some reason for a delay, something like a busted ... oh – ”

Scott broke in and Erik tried not to start. He sometimes forgot the boys were still in the room, which really should have been impossible to do in a _locked_ _prison cell._ “Professor, I'll work on something for you to give them, if you don't mind – I, well, I know a little of this kind of ship's workings.”

The boy sounded painfully awkward as he tried not to imply any kind of mechanical ignorance on Charles's part. Erik exchanged a smirk for a raised eyebrow from Charles.

“Yes, thank you, Scott. I think that's a very good idea.”

A little later on, when the lights had dimmed and the Summers were both asleep, Erik and Charles were sitting up on Erik's bunk talking, too jittery from the rush of planning to sleep immediately. They sat close enough that their shoulders brushed, which Erik was trying not to think about. Instead he was turning over what Charles had said earlier.

“What's it like for you,” He said. “I mean, you've never had your powers Restrained before. What's it like, now, after so long with them?”

Charles didn't speak for a long moment, but his face was more thoughtful than upset when Erik glanced over.

“The first few days were the worst. I knew what to expect, I've been under fields like this before. Courthouses,” he explained at Erik's questioning look. “'The only power in this room shall be the power of law' and all that. Anyway, so I knew what to expect, and that helped – maybe. A little.” He reached up and brushed his temple slowly. “It's worst at night and when waking up in the morning. Actually, I didn't sleep that first night at all.”

Erik shook his head, not quite understanding.

Charles made a complicated face and shifted. “I'm not the best at explaining this – probably rely too much on my telepathy out there. It's like – every mind has a particular _presence_ , right. A – a feeling or sensation. It's as much a part of my senses as my hearing – perhaps more so. And without it – ” Charles shook his head, shrugged. “Silence. Isolation. At night I might as well be floating out in space alone.”

Erik mulled that over for a moment, thinking of the blind spot in his own perceptions, of that heart-jolting sense of disassociation that still plagued him when he was half asleep in the morning. It wasn't right, he thought, what they could do to mutants – to _powerful_ mutants.

He changed the subject. “So you think you'll be able to just – _hold_ the entire crew.” Erik said slowly, trying to wrap his mind around that kind of power.

Charles nodded, “That shouldn't be a problem, yes. And after that it's just a matter of coordinating a pick-up. Now, back on Wakanda my ship told me that it would be following behind the _Caspartina_ at at 2 parsec distance – ”

Erik blinked. “Wait. Your _ship_ told you?”

Charles grinned at him, a flash of white in the dim light. “Cerebro is one of a kind. Normally my telepathy has a much more limited range, about 250 miles – ”

Erik raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Charles, I can see how you'd find that _terribly_ stifling – ”

Charles sounded like he was trying to be stern, “... but with Cerebro's amplifiers, I have a much longer range.”

Erik gestured. “But you're not on the ship now, so how – ?”

Charles nodded and waved him off, “Cerebro has my mind mapped and linked. He puts out... psionic feelers, you could call them.” He sighed, “If we could just – break through the dampeners, I should be able to communicate with him – and, by extension, Raven.

It took a moment for Erik to recall: “Your sister?”

“Yes.” Charles moved to the edge of the bed like he was going to jump down but paused. He turned his head and slowly looked Erik up and down, a sort of deliberate perusal he'd never used before on Erik that made Erik's chest feel strange. “And oh, she's going to _love_ you.”

Erik, feeling unsettled and bold in the dark, said, “Must be genetic.”

Obviously taken aback, Charles laughed quietly. After a moment, he said, glancing back at Erik, “We're not biologically related – but there's enough environmental factors at work, I suppose.” He slid down to the floor and then stood there next to the bed.

Erik didn't let it go. He leaned forward and looked down at the other man, “Why Charles, you just admitted you liked me.”

But Charles had already recovered his confidence. Smirking he said, “I'm helping you break out of prison, Erik. Surely _that_ was obvious from the start.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains some slurs and sexually threatening language.

_ The  _ G.S. Caspartina   
_Backsystem, approaching Station 5, en route to System Rim  
Date 3696.1_

 

They didn't need a reminder about how tenuous their position was, but they got one anyway.

–

Another late night, another nightmare, another confab.

They had been sitting up on Erik's bunk, mostly quiet, until Charles ventured a question that Erik had been avoiding thinking about:

“What do you plan to do after all this? When we get off this ship and are away?”

Erik was glad for the dark. He said, falsely light, “Not sure. I'm not very familiar with the Backsystem, but Proximal's probably not safe – at least not until I figure out a way to get a new identity.” The obstacles were almost too numerous to count, whenever Erik bothered trying to list them.

“Well, of course I – we'll help any way we can with all that.” Charles hesitated, uncharacteristically awkward. “And, you know, you're welcome to stay with my ship. Of course.”

Erik let his head fall back against the wall and gave Charles a wry smile. “Surely you've noticed that I'm not much of a team player, Charles.” He didn't mean it as a rejection, but the point had to be made. “And I think I ... I'm going to need to stand on my own for a while. I never have before, you know.”

There were basics to living in society and fending for oneself that Erik didn't know the first clue about. Money? Work? Forged labor didn't exactly set one up with useful skills or work experience. He wasn't even sure he would be able to handle having any kind of ...  _ boss _ or external obligations. 

Not to mention that the idea of interacting regularly with humans made his stomach clench up unpleasantly.

“You wouldn't have to be an official part of the crew,” Charles said after a long moment. “I wasn't going to suggest anything like that, I understand you are ... but just – think about it. That's all I'll say. We do good work, helping our kind. And we travel everywhere – great way to see the system, you know. But of course I'll – I'd be happy to drop you off wherever you decide to go.”

Erik struggled to say something for a moment but ended up with an almost curt, “I appreciate it.”

Charles seemed to understand.

–

He and Logan were cleaning an unused computer room this time, swabbing the screens and dusting the antiquated but ruggedized wiring system used for powering the systems. Erik didn't pretend to understand anything he was cleaning – his main mode of learning was currently cut off; without it, he was as dumb as they had always told him.

The duties manager had said earlier that a technician would be by to fix one of the workstations, so Erik wasn't surprised when Scott came in shortly after shift began. He'd been assigned as a maintenance assistant after skills-testing; even blind, the boy had a gift with tools and machinery.

The technician absented himself after only fifteen minutes, muttering to the guards about the state of the room and leaving Scott to sort and clean his toolbox.

Erik waited for the guards to walk down the corridor a bit before introducing Scott and Logan. They didn't have much time, and he wanted to start going over the plan.

“You didn't tell me we were working with children. I feel so much more confident about this whole thing now,” Logan said, giving Scott an unimpressed look.

Scott's chin came up at the tone. “The professor trusts me, is that not good enough for you?”

“Kid, why should it be good enough for me? I don't know your damn professor.”

It was pretty typical that the one person Erik chose to bring in on the plan would immediately antagonize the boy. As if he didn't have a hard enough time getting him to trust Erik as it was.

“Let's just get down to business,” Erik said. He waved Logan forward so they could speak quietly and still be heard by Scott. “It's going to be after dinner. Charles got hold of a Level III pass, it should be enough to get the two of us up to deck 15. We're to meet with Storm at the aft storage compartment.”

Logan rubbed his chin, the bristles making a rough scritching sound under his fingers. “And when we bump into guards around every corner?”

Scott spoke up. “Alex works in the laundry room, he's been swiping parts of uniforms for the past couple weeks. It's not perfect, but the uniforms will make you a little less suspicious, especially on camera.”

“Parts of uniforms?” Logan was skeptical. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Scott paused as a pair of boots went by the door and then continued quietly, “Every uniform is tagged and monitored. If one goes missing, it raises a flag. So we have to put some together with different pieces – luckily the guard uniforms are made up of pre-fabbed panels – that's so they can adjust to fluctuations in – ”

“Scott,” Erik said. “Get to the point.”

But Logan shook his head, “I don't know about this, Lehnsherr. I didn't agree to take orders from some wannabe space scout.”

“I'm not a wannabe space scout,” Scott said irritably, eyebrows creasing down visibly under his blindfold.

“You fix machines, sew clothing, and talk like you have a stick up your ass, kid, what else am I supposed to – ”

“Enough, both of you just _shut up_.” Erik rubbed his eyes. “Moving on: Storm says the crew was doing work near the garbage hatchway off her cell corridor. We need to get inside the hatchway, take out the workers there and suit up. Logan, you're going to stand guard while the two of us do the space walk.”

Logan nodded, “Suits me fine, space makes me queasy.”

Scott's mouth curled but he only said, “After the professor gets a hold of the crew, Alex and I should be able to get to the bridge and take control of the communications and pilot systems.” He stopped speaking then, face tilted towards the door once more, but this time the boots entered the room.

Erik and Logan immediately started washing the screens again, not turning to look over their shoulders at whoever entered. So they had no warning for what came next.

“Wolverine,” a voice said.

Scott, unable to see how Erik and Logan froze up, continued casually working. He had never seen Logan's dog tags, and he'd never heard Colonel William Stryker's distinctive voice.

After a moment, Logan turned around, rag in hand at his side, head down but tilted warily. Erik glanced over his shoulder.

The guards were more attentive now that someone of importance was in the room. They looked on as Stryker stepped forward, his attention fixed solely on Logan, eyes avid behind the rims of his glasses. “Wolverine, _ it is  _ you,” he breathed. “I could barely believe it when the guards outside mentioned your name. Why, I –  _ look at you _ .”

“Can't say I've had the pleasure, bub.” Logan said. A pointless bluff, Erik thought. Over at the table, Scott fumbled with his tools.

“And I can't say this is a surprising place for you to end up but – how long's it been?  _ Thirty _ _ years _ ?” Stryker's eyes moved up and down Logan's body in a cold calculus, “You haven't aged a  _ day _ .” 

Logan's gaze shot up to meet the colonel's. Scott faltered with his tools. Erik cursed mentally.

Stryker continued. “Well yes, me?  _ Nature.  _ I had no idea you were on this ship. Bound for Santo Marco, I'm sure.” 

“What do you know of it,” Logan gritted out.

A sickening triumph lit up Stryker's face in response. He straightened, puffed his barrel chest up, inhaled life to its fullest. “It's a fitting place for an animal of your calibre. I'd love to watch a live feed of you down there – but I'm surprised. Gyrich hasn't offered you up to to SCL to study?”

Logan didn't move, didn't blink; Erik held his breath.

But somehow Stryker  _ knew _ . 

“They don't know, do they?” Stryker waved to their surroundings, encompassing the corridor, the ship, and their plan all in one careless gesture. “You weren't processed.” A grin flashed through the bristles of his beard. “You know, not many men get to discover the same mutant twice in a lifetime.”

Logan stiffened, eyes flaring up almost hungrily before he flinched, like he was remembering something unpleasant.

Stryker took an easy step back, not out of intimidation, but because he clearly wanted to look Logan up and down one more time. “Ten days out from Sentinel Orbit,” he said eventually, turning to go. “Oh, you'll thank me in the end, Wolverine. Santo Marco is an awfully  _ long _ sentence for someone like you.” 

After he'd left, the guards in the corridor lingering in a salute, Logan stood in silence, breathing fast. Scott put his tools down and tilted his face inquiringly.

Erik just said shortly, “I'll tell Charles we'll need to move the plan up.”

–

“Charles, can I ask you a question?”

It was dinner, and they had been going over the plan again. Storm was maintaining face with her cellmates at a table across the room, so Erik took the opportunity to derail the conversation.  

“Certainly.”

“If you can control the entire crew at once – why didn't you just do that at the beginning before entering the dampening field? Why risk all this?”

Charles sighed. “My ship was out of range, and there was no way I would be able to hold the shuttle or  _ Caspartina _ for long enough for them to get here – Not before someone would notice something amiss. Too many detection systems, too much surveillance.” He glanced meaningfully at Erik, “My crew and I try to keep a very low profile.”

But Erik was still skeptical. “Still seems like a big risk just to keep hiding your existence.”

Charles shook his head, “We needed the ship to be in the Backsystem before we could attempt anything. The Empire doesn't have nearly the level of control out here that Proximal Vega thinks it does.”

A thought sparked in his head. “You're talking about the Hellfire Club?”

Charles said, amused, “Not specifically, but they're certainly a relevant example – what do  _ you  _ know about them?” 

Erik shrugged and shook his head, “Not much, just rumors and exaggerated stories. I mean,” Erik leaned forward, “they can't really have their own independent station out here, right? That's not possible.”

“You'd be surprised. The reason that the Hellfire Club has been able to continue being a thorn in the side of the Empire is the exact same reason we have waited until now to implement our escape plan.” Charles spooned up some of his dinner and mused, “When it comes down to it, space is ... big.”

Erik stared. “That's it?” Charles glanced up at him nonplussed, and he said, “'Space is big?'  _ Really _ ?” 

Charles reared back, frowned. “The fundamentals of scale and location are the foundation of any decent strategy, Erik.”

Erik just shook his head.  _ Space is big _ , he thought. _ God help us. _

Then he stiffened, because Zyrick and Espina were walking up behind Charles. Their presence was felt the table over – backs hunching, eyes shuttering, conversations dropping away. Charles glanced around and then went still as Espina spoke, voice a parody of sweetness.

“You know, every time I look over at these two they've got their heads together, just like that first day on board. You think the toff civilized the savage?”

The two angled themselves along either side of Charles' shoulders. Espina tapped the baton at her side, tipping her head to look down at him with a malicious smirk. Neither he nor Erik spoke.

“Civilized, no – maybe he domesticated him. Animal like Lehnsherr'd need a reason to be friendly. Hey now – ” Zyrick's smile didn't reach his flat eyes. “You don't suppose they're fags, do you?”

Erik stared hard down at the table, fingers gripping the bench below him tight.

“All mutants are queer, everyone knows that. It's in their nature.” Espina bent down and whispered into Charles's ear. “I also hear they get off on pain, you can do  _ anything _ to them.” She laughed, eyes on Erik. “But fraternization between prisoners isn't allowed, you know.” She straightened, face serious. “Maybe we should separate these two.” 

Erik tried not to tense up; failed.

“Aw, Espina, don't be so harsh. They'll be on Santo Marco soon.” He looked down at Charles. “You know, Xavier, you should climb on Lehnsherr while you can. They say it's so cold on Santo Marco that your cock will actually  _ fall off _ ,” Zyrick said, hand clapping down heavy on Charles's stiff shoulder. 

“Body conserves heat that way,” the Espina said, nodding along. “Extremities are the first to go.” She was looking right at Erik, cold-eyed and smug, but Erik was looking at Zyrick's hand.

Charles was ignoring the guards, trying to meet Erik's eyes. “Erik,” he said quietly, pitched only for him, “I've heard worse, believe me.  _ Erik _ .” 

Other prisoners were staring over at them. Erik's ears were burning with humiliation and anger, but he wasn't going to jeopardize the plan over petty taunting. Charles wasn't the only one who'd heard worse.

The two guards seemed disappointed that they weren't getting a rise out of either of them and for a few seconds they were held waiting, hoping for a reprieve, that they would just walk on.

Then Espina shrugged; Zyrick sucked on his front teeth and nodded.

“Hey, isn't there a minor quartered with them?”

Charles paled.

Espina raised an eyebrow and jerked her thumb to the next table over, where the Summers sat. They usually preferred to eat alone, since it was the only moment of quasi-privacy the two got. “That kid over there – the blond one, right?”

“Yeah ... hey now, you don't think these two have been  _ doing _ anything to him, do you?” 

Espina clicked her tongue. “Oh, that boy's too pretty by _half_ to be safe with these two fairies.”

“Uh-huh.”

She continued, “Looks like he might need a feminine touch, you know, to wash him clean.”

Erik met Charles's wide eyes, feeling sick. Alex was a twerp and a pain, but he was still just an innocent kid. Which is, of course, what the guards were zeroing in on.

“What do you think, Espina, we tug him aside during rec time, there's that bathroom off corridor B with the slots for handcuffs … not like the medics on Santo Marco'll know the difference by the time we get there – ”

Charles shot to his feet, face white and lips pinched bloodless. Before he could even open his mouth though, the guards reacted like they'd been waiting for it – Zyrick slammed him face forward onto the table with a hand on the back of neck.

“Stay _down_ , prisoner!” He ordered.

Erik jerked in his seat but found himself held fast by another guard that had come up behind him without his noticing. So all he could do was stare with wide eyes and a snarl as, three feet away, Espina pulled Charles' face, twisted in pain, up from the table by the hair.

There was an odd ringing in Erik's ears.

“This one tried to assault you, you see that?” Espina's baton was suddenly in her hand and with a well-practiced elbow swing she drove it hard into Charles's stomach. His legs scrabbled for leverage, but Zyrick sweeped them out from underneath in a brutally efficient kick. He went down hard, hitting the bench with his forehead on the way.

The table wasn't quiet anymore. Prisoners were shouting – some egging the fight on, others cursing the guards as they congregated around the scene.

Fingers dug painfully into the bunched muscles of Erik's shoulders, holding him back.

Two more joined Zyrick and Espina and they all traded turns kicking Charles's curled form on the floor. The ringing in Erik's ears crescendoed into an all-encompassing  _ roar –  _

\- and then a sound from Charles, unwilling and hurt, broke through the dull chorus of screams and feet impacting flesh. 

Erik snapped.

He ripped himself from the other guards' hands and threw himself right across the top of the table, pivoting heels first into Zyrick's face. He slammed into the back of a hard body, swung it around, and let his fist fly. Traded a couple hits in before another guard had him under the arms in a hold, but Erik was insensate by now; he kicked out the groin of the man in front of him and slammed his head backwards into the holder's nose. Registered the  _ crunch _ with a bloody grin, and flung himself forward once more into the fray. 

He stopped thinking, stopped feeling his limbs, stopped feeling anything except the pure flow of rage as he ducked and hit, dancing around like the savage human they'd made him. The feeling – it was familiar, but not like when he killed Shaw – that had to be premeditated to work, took years of preparation – no this –  _ this was just like...  _ it had to be from Before. 

He'd taken down at least one guard before a mass of reinforcements converged on him, batons out and up.

The mess hall was making a din – prisoners yelling, guards cursing and shouting orders, trays and feet slamming against tables and benches. The noise blurred with the ringing in his ears as a baton was stabbed into his midsection, and then he was grabbed from behind again, this time by several guards. 

As he choked and gasped for breath, he glimpsed Charles lying on the ground, prostrate and bloody and in danger of being stepped on. It was the last thing he saw before a baton came down on his head and he was  _ out _ . 

–

Like a sickly echo, there was still a pounding noise when he swam back awake, squinting up at a ceiling that was further away than the one above his usual bunk.

“Charles?” His voice came out hoarse and groggy from the pain in his head.

There was no answer. The off-beat banging and scratching from the other side of the wall continued as he sat slowly up and looked around the unfamiliar cell.

It was much smaller than his quad cell and only had the cot he was sitting on and a small metal toilet and sink two feet away. Two bars of fluorescent light ran along the ceiling, and the door had no window to the corridor. The room was a closed box.

Erik got up to inspect the door closer and found a feeding slot near the bottom. It had long scratches all around it, like someone had tried to pry it open further with their fingernails. Erik took them in with a curious apathy before turning around slowly to sit against the door and survey his new domain.

The noises from the neighboring cell tapered off. Then the screaming started.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_ The  _ G.S. Caspartina  
_Backsystem  
Date 36--.- _

 

Some time passed.

–

At first they didn't feed him; after a while his stomach was too interrupted to use as an accurate measure of time.

He paced until he was dizzy, and then he slept until he could not.

–

Erik wondered about things.

If Stryker had moved Logan out of gen pop. How far they were from Sentinel orbit. If Charles was okay.

–

Eventually a guard came to escort him to his daily allotted rec time. He was led to a small room with a dangling full-spectrum light bulb and a weight set. He sat on the worn bench and stared at the light until all he saw were spots, and then after an hour he followed the guard back to his cell. His instincts screamed with every step he took towards it, but he reentered the cell peacefully.

He had his time piece.

Once a day, rec time – inviolate.

(It was in the Genoshan prison code.)

–

The last time he had been alone was down on Wakanda.

He’d waited for the transport shuttle for nearly a full day, sitting out on the simple wooden platform that posed as a station in that province. Hours in the full glare of the sun until his pale eyelids and nose were burnt and his lips cracked and dry. With the exception of the joke of a marshal snoring over in his vehicle, there hadn’t been another person for miles. A breeze dank from the rotting early spring stung his burns and after a while the nature noises had started to coalesce into a terrible racket.

It had been then – head hanging down, chin against his chest, studying the unvarnished grain of the boards under his feet – that was when he had calmly decided he was done. He wasn’t going to try and escape, but would take his sentence quietly all the way to its end point, the horizon of the system.

He tried to reach for that calm now, but it no longer existed. Somewhere along the  _ Caspartina _ ’s journey, in those short few weeks, it had been vented out into space. In it's place stood his familiar friend anger – and a terrible longing. 

–

He wondered about things because he had nothing else to distract himself.

If Stryker had moved Logan out of gen pop. How far they were from Sentinel Orbit. What did he do Before. If Charles was okay.

–

They could keep him in here until Santo Marco.

It's where they'd wanted him in the first place;  _ this is the one Captain Gyrich mentioned. _

As soon as he thought it, he wished he could unthink it for the terrible anxiety it caused him, heart racing, breath short, head clasped between palms to stop the panic from ricocheting all around the small cell, pressing,  _ stop it just stop it make it  _ go away don't think about it _ –  _

–

He sat in the far corner of his cell and was still for several minutes, hours.

–

When he killed Shaw, he had been thinking about it every day for several years, but the event itself still came a little bit as a surprise. Erik's memory of the day isn't too clear because of a concussive blast that ripped through the room around the same time – no doubt set off by Shaw's security forces.

It was hard to overcome Forge Restraints. Near impossible, people said. Forge-breaking is the safer way to go, but Erik didn't have the know-how or tools for that. So he nurtured his hate and his rage until it became the only remaining internal force driving him forward.

That day, Shaw had been wining and dining some SI board members at the mining camp. He had displayed Erik like a prized dog and then made him juggle the silverware hands free. It wasn't any special humiliation that hadn't occurred before, and in fact was one of the mildest punishments Erik had been forced to endure over the years.

He doesn't remember why that was the day the cutlery obeyed his command and buried themselves deep in Shaw's throat.

The board members had scattered back from the table as Erik stepped up to Shaw. Grasping hands, frantic eyes, blood an arc over his white linen tablecloth – it was a messy death. Erik remembered that much. It felt to right, then, to kill. After, it felt almost meaningless – but he didn't regret it.

Poetic justice, Erik had thought, even as they processed his crime and sentenced him to the Rim. He had nothing else left to feel but that last knowledge. It was fitting for a tyrannical human to die by the very mutation he had grown rich exploiting.

Erik rolled his head back and forth along his cot. He'd now gotten to feel other things, at least for a while. Soon all he would feel would be the cold. He should be grateful.

He repeated it out loud. Again.

–

He wondered about things until they started to lose meaning.

If Stryker had moved Logan out of gen pop. How far they were from Sentinel Orbit. What did he do Before.

–

He dreamed of the Rim, but like in death and loss, imagination is nothing compared to experience.

–

Was Charles okay?

–

None of them were okay.

He screamed it at the wall until his faceless neighbor started screaming back. It was almost like communication.

–

Some time passed.

 


	9. Chapter 9

_ The  _ G.S. Caspartina  
_Backsystem, approaching Sentinel orbit, en route to System Rim  
Date 3700.7_

 

The fifth rec room visit turned into something else entirely. Erik blinked, confused, when they led him down a different corridor.

“Where are you taking me?”

They didn't answer, but soon they were all in a lift and headed to a different deck. Erik stared at the digital readout and could scarcely believe it when it stopped on the number of his original cell block.

“I'm out?” he said.

This finally provoked a reaction from one of his guards, an unfamiliar face who glanced at him incredulously. She said, “Sure, Lehnsherr, you're  _ out _ . And in a few days we'll be entering the Rim, and then you'll be  _ really _ out.”

They arrived at his cell. He had no idea which shift in the cycle the block was on, but when the door slid open the cell was empty. He stepped inside, turning in a slow circle. When he glanced back at the doorway, the guard raised her eyebrows pointedly.

“Enjoy your freedom, Lehnsherr.”

The door slid closed, and Erik was alone again.

–

“... _told_ you he was violent. You could see it in his eyes.”

“Shut _up_ , Alex.”

“If you would both please be quiet –  _ Erik? _ ”

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the underside of his own bunk. His old bunk. He was on Charles's mattress, body heavy and eyes sore. He didn't remember lying down.

Charles was leaning over him, eyes wide. His eyes were both bruised though no longer as swollen or dark as they would have been immediately after the incident. His bottom lip and cheekbone were scabbed over and his eyes were bloodshot.

He was beautiful.

The thought startled Erik; he'd never consciously formed it before.

“Charles.” They looked at each other for a long moment before Alex craned his head over Charles' shoulder to look down at him.

“So did you kill that guard? We haven’t seen him since.”

Erik stilled at that, looked at Charles. “What?”

“You know, the one you headbutted – ”

Charles cut Alex off, shaking his head, “Of course he didn’t. They wouldn’t have allowed him back out if he had.”

Erik hadn’t even known it was a possible factor. He could only sit and look at Charles, who was avoiding meeting his eyes. He didn’t know how to interpret that, and his stomach began to clench again, though not from hunger, he was sure.

Alex, oblivious, continued down his list of questions. “So what was solitary like? Did you make tally marks on the wall in your own blood?”

Scott cuffed him across back of his head.

Erik just grunted in reply and leveraged his way up to sitting. Charles hovered anxiously like he wanted to help him up but was holding back for some reason. Erik didn't know what to make of that either.

“What shift is it?” He asked. His sense of time was completely thrown off and it was disorienting.

“We just got back from rec,” Charles said quietly, shifting to sit beside him but keeping his body angled Erik’s way. “Are you okay? We weren't sure if they would treat your injuries and – ”

“I'm fine,” Erik said. “Not injured. Bruises, mostly.” He looked around at them. “What about all of you? Did the guards – did anything happen while I was gone?” He remembered the guards' words with excruciating clarity.

“No, nothing.” Charles was quick to assure him. “Idle threats. I think they felt they had drawn enough of our blood for the moment.” He gave a slight grimace of black humor. “Got their kicks in, as it were.”

Erik nodded, feeling a slight ease in the tension he' been carrying for several days, though he personally questioned Charles's judgment of what constituted an  _ idle threat. _ “And – what about the plan? How many days do we have?” 

Charles sat back and looked grimly up at the Summers before meeting his eyes again. “Not many. We have to act soon, contact Ororo and Logan tomorrow. Make our move the day after.”

Scott spoke up, voice muted, “The uniforms are ready.”

It was cutting it close. The  _ Caspartina  _ would be within communications range of Sentinel Station in two days' time. They might take the ship only to find themselves up against an entire Imperial outpost. 

“Okay,” Erik nodded. “Okay. I'm ready.”

Charles nodded and bit his lip. “Wasn't sure what we were going to do if you weren't released from solitary. I was going to go up with Ororo, take the crew from the outside.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Erik commented. “Do you even know how to fight?”

“I _have_ been in one or two pub brawls,” Charles smiled bitterly and shrugged. “Don't worry, I can hold my own, with the proper motivation.”

–

Erik hadn't given thought about how his own face looked until he saw Charles and the others again. It felt stiff and splashing water on it still stung a little.

The next work shift, Logan took one look and gave a long low whistle. “You're lucky your jaw's not broken. Happened to me once: it started to heal before I got it locked back in place, and so I had to break it again.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Erik said.

It seemed that the incident in the mess hall had raised tensions on the ship. The shift guards weren't having any of their talking today; Bartlet made sure to keep them on opposite sides of the room for most of the shift. Near the end, while brushing as close as he could get to where Logan was cleaning out a stack of air filters, Erik muttered:

“We're doing it tomorrow. After dinner, just like we planned.”

“Well, hell,” Logan bared his teeth in a grin, “I hope it's not too easy. I've been looking to bruise my knuckles on some of these guys.”

And yes, maybe Logan didn't prioritize stealth as much as he should, but Erik had to appreciate his work ethic.

–

They didn't want to risk attracting attention at dinner, so they didn't move over to sit with Ororo or even talk all that much to each other.

Instead Charles waited for her to glance over and gave some kind of signal that was too subtle for even Erik to notice. She clearly received it though, because she nodded back.

The rest of the meal passed in silence.

–

His sleep schedule was screwed up from his time in solitary; he felt a bone-deep exhaustion but couldn't sleep at all that night. Blinking up into the darkness and listening to the others' breathing, he thought that Charles might be awake, but the other man did not speak or invite himself up to sit next to Erik.

Erik kept his own mouth shut and ran through the plan once more on his own. Talking to Charles and figuring out what was bothering him could wait – would have to wait – until after they were safely off this ship.

–

Charles and the boys were tense and silent the next day. Going through the regular shift routine and trying to act normal was almost unbearable. Even the brothers' bickering was subdued and halfhearted, and they'd taken to sitting together like they had back on the shuttle the month before – shoulders jammed together, heads down, communicating only in whispers.

Erik could feel the tension throughout the day, the barely controlled panic, the clamoring whisper that had to be going on in everyone’s minds,  _ go go go gotta get out –  _ a whisper that, if allowed an inch, would swallow them whole. They’d break, make a mistake, and in doing so damn themselves to the Rim.

Charles had planned for contingencies, but Erik had some of his own. Which is why he pulled Alex aside early on in the day, well out of earshot of either Scott or Charles. Alex looked up at him warily but didn’t move away when Erik spoke.

“I need to know that if something goes wrong, if Charles isn’t able to take the crew, you’ll do what’s necessary.”

Alex's lips tightened, “And what’s that?”

Erik pinned him with his gaze and didn't let up, “It's very simple: you let go and burn them all to hell.”

Alex stared at him wide-eyed for a single second before shaking his head. “No, no way. I don’t want to kill anyone.”

And that was just the kind of skewed priorities Erik had been expecting. He stepped in closer, using the full range of his height to tower over the boy. “You _already_ killed two people, remember?”

“ – I could _ hardly forget _ – ” Alex gritted out, face red with anger. 

“Well, this time it will at least mean something. Or would you rather watch your brother race freezing and starving down to the end on Santo Marco?”

And Alex might have glared at Erik, eyes burning like he wished he could use his power on  _ him _ , but after a moment he grudgingly nodded, and Erik could breathe a little easier. 

“What if I mess up and pierce the hull of the ship?” 

A flash of an image ran through Erik's head: Charles and the boys sucked out into the vacuum with the debris of guards around them, faces a rictus of shock. It made him sick, but he tipped his head at Alex. “At least it'll be quick.” 

–

In Erik's mind, every minute was a minute closer to Sentinel Station, closer to the point of no return, and every tramp of guard boots was their plot found out – the wait masticated and stretched one's nerves like a rubber band until they were thin enough to snap.

He scrubbed furiously during the work shift to keep his body from fidgeting too obviously. Logan appeared unaffected, though his resting eyebrows were furrowed a little more than usual. They didn't speak much for the several hours they were together and didn't look at each other when the shift was over.

–

When the time finally came to act, a calm stole over Erik. Everything became a cold calculation of risk and strategy, fear a forgotten brother to inaction and passivity, which Erik had finally left behind.

Charles was pale but composed as he looked around the rec room after dinner before palming the passcard to Erik. He met his eyes for the briefest of moments and swallowed.

“Please don't kill anyone if you can avoid it. Good luck,” was the last thing he said to Erik.

And Erik didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

–

An escape plan has several important components, the first being: The Disguise.

Erik headed to the bathroom, nodding deferentially to the guard in the corridor before slipping inside.

Alex had stowed the uniforms in sealed plastic laundry bags behind the toilet's air vac filter. Erik ripped the bag open and started pulling the uniform on – the stiff black panels didn't quite sit right, were meant for a more rotund frame, but they would have to do.

Logan slipped into the stall just as he was trying to figure out how to do up the suit. Erik eyed the fresh cuts on his knuckles.

“Bartlet wouldn't let me play chess,” Logan said. “We hashed the problem out in private, came to an agreement.”

Erik rolled his eyes and handed him the other uniform.

–

Second step: The Diversion.

Alex and Scott had planned to get into a very loud and confrontational family fight, and had spent a long time thinking up truly horrible things to say to each other for the sake of  _ believability _ . 

Erik didn't pretend to understand family relations.

After only a few minutes of waiting cramped in their stall, Scott's voice could be heard from further down the corridor, screaming for Alex to give him back his head bandage  _ or else _ . 

“Oh, he took that direction,” Erik said. “Huh.”

The two of them exited the bathroom and looked for guards on either end of the corridor, but the brothers' loud – and by the sounds of it, physical – fight had done the trick, attracting the sharks to the blood in the water. They turned down the opposite end of the corridor and made for the nearest lift.

–

Another step, inevitably: The Knock Out.

Erik took a guard around the corner from behind with a hand over his mouth and held him until he relaxed to the floor. Logan's counterpart got so far as, “ _ Wait _ , you're – ” before being hit with a fist of adamantium. They dragged them a few feet away to an empty cell, swiped their card, and dumped the bodies inside before locking it again. 

Erik checked the clock panel of his uniform. “A little over an hour before they should be discovered. Let's go.”

They boarded the lift.

–

The thing to understand about The Knock Out is that it may need to be repeated.

“What're we going to do when there isn't an empty room handy?” Logan grunted as they dragged two more into a custodial closet.

–

Repeated a few times.

Erik swiped the card again. The door slid open to show a break room – three guards with loosened collars drinking tea around a table. The guards looked up and took in Erik and Logan, disheveled and breathing hard, holding two crumpled bodies.

“Aw, hell.” Logan dropped his body and moved forward into the room.

–

Next: The Rendezvous

“Did you have any trouble?” Erik asked Storm as she stepped forward out of the storage compartment's shadows.

“I make a living stealing things,” she pointed out drily. “Sneaking around is kind of my thing.”

“You also got caught,” Logan pointed out before extending his hand out to shake, “Logan.”

She shook his hand, “Lack of stealth wasn’t the problem. Trust was.” She raised one white eyebrow and glanced between the two men. “Let's hope that won't be an issue today.”

Storm led them down several cell corridors – empty because all the prisoners had just been sent to work shift. She seemed to have a better sense of the layout and movements of her block than Erik had had of his – they were able to hide and move in such a way that they didn't have any more encounters with guards.

At least not until they reached a door near the end of one of the many identical corridors they'd been down. Some grinding noise and voices could be heard from inside. Storm nodded to the door – this was it.

Logan cracked his knuckles.

–

And finally: The Takeover.

“Charles told me you've never controlled your full mutation before.” Storm said to him as they stepped over the prone bodies and pulled on two space suits.

“Did he.” Erik frowned, covered the emotion by looking down at his sleeve cuff for a moment, as if trying to figure out how to connect the gloves. This was it; his whole body was trembling suddenly. The hatch to the transition chamber was only a few feet away and outside it lay both truth and death.

The cover didn't work. “He didn't mean anything by it, Lehnsherr,” she said impatiently. “I just want you to know that, whatever you're feeling, you need to keep your eyes on me. I'm the only thing standing between you and a burst of radiation that'll put you down within a day's time, max. And I don't want to go flying off into space just because you lose your cool.”

“I'm sure he'll be fine,” Logan said gamely, clearing a path by heaving the bodies into one corner. “Now hurry the fuck up, wouldja, all these bruises are annoying.”

Erik said nothing more, but lowered the helmet over his head and locked it into place.

Logan opened first hatch and then sealed it after them.

“Comms check,” Storm said in his ear.

“Yeah, I got you,” Erik replied.

He watched through his screen as the padded gray figure in front of him hit the pressure button. The second hatch swung open with a hiss that cut off into silence as all the air vented out. Suddenly the only noise in the whole system was his own harsh breathing.

Storm climbed out of the hatchway, her movements slow and measured. After a moment, Erik stepped out after her. In a disorienting swing of perspective, gravity went away, up and down became meaningless, his limbs became weightless and –

_ Alive _ .


	10. Chapter 10

Space wasn't empty.

The _Caspartina_ hung in the darkness like a specter. With every fiber in his being Erik felt the ship, and it was like only he and it existed out there against the abyss.

The ship was massive, held over 1500 souls, a prime example of scientific progress and the perversions only humans would think to use such progress for.

So strange, to think of the power this ship had held over him, all the misery and dead-ended lives contained in its paltry metal shell. He was equal to it.

No.

He was its master.

A buzz of static in his ear: “Lehnsherr, what's wrong?”

Erik flexed his fingers, stiff in the space suit gloves, and the area around the hatch opening crumpled like tin foil. He breathed out a laugh, exhilarated, and looked around the expanse of his domain. It was just the ship and he.

Static. “ _Lehnsherr?_ Oh _fuck_.”

In space, one feels nothing except acceleration and collision.

Unless one is Erik.

His boots were magnetized to the ship’s surface; with little more than a flick of his fingers, he released them. The speed of the ship became apparent as it moved on and he fell behind, weightless but safely tethered to his own will.

A burst of static and curses in his ear: meaningless.

He let the _Caspartina_ get on a bit before throwing his hand up and _pulling –_ the ship slowed. If it had been in-atmosphere the ship would be groaning, the metal grinding and straining at the abrupt change in momentum, but out here it was all a silent ballet.

Something strange was happening around the ship, a wave of movement and force not of his doing, but he disregarded it.

Erik felt the flicker of panicked controls up and down the ship, the vibrations of the command deck, and held the ship back from responding. It was so _easy_. The ship didn't want to respond to the controls – it wanted to obey Erik.

Somewhere inside the ship were Captain Gyrich and his sprawling crew of sadists. Erik could feel them if he focused: the heavy tread of their steel-tipped boots past lines of hunched prisoners, the sweeping arc of the aluminum truncheons at their belts. He could imagine Gyrich's arrogant calm breaking as he realized he wouldn't be continuing on to Sentinel Station and Santo Marco, that he and his crew might be trapped in their own prison, marooned in the cold black of the outback.

Erik concentrated harder inward, and felt out the simple dog tags around each guard's neck against the wider metal population as if he were looking through a microscope. With a blink he began to tighten all of them.

More static and words in his ear. He held on tighter to the ship –

_Erik!_

A frantic voice, not over the comms but in his head. Erik blinked but didn't release his hold on the ship and crew.

 _Let it go, Erik, you have to let it go,_ please _–_

Charles – Charles and the others were still in there, still with the guards. Still in danger.

 _You're exposed to the radiation, you'll die – you've got to_ let it go.

This was too important to –

 _I've got them, I've got them_ all.

_... Charles?_

_Calm your_ _mind_ _, Erik, please._

But then – a terse voice in his ear: “Come here, you idiot.” Followed by an arm suddenly snaking around his waist and pulling him in tight against a curved but firm body. For a startled moment he could only register the metal collar of the other person's suit – he could strangle them, unclip the helmet and expose them to the vacuum, push them away to spin off to a slow death, _anything_ , he wasn't defenseless –

– but he breathed and blinked, and realized it was just Storm, curling over him to shield him from the radiation brought on by her mutation. After a moment his limbs responded, and he clung back.

The two of them drifted together in the darkness while the ship was silently battered by the storm.

 _... You've got them? All the humans?_ He never would have guessed it was so easy to communicate a thought, but Charles was right there waiting, like it was the most natural place for him to be, a voice filling the silence.

_I'm holding them. No one's hurt. It's over, Erik._

Erik breathed.

After several minutes, Storm lifted her head, and through the helmet screen he watched the white bleed away from her eyes. She studied him warily for a moment and then jerked her head towards the ship:

“The ship is ours. Shall we board it?”

With Charles a warm steady presence in his mind and Storm at his side, he flicked a finger and glided them back towards the hatch.

He wasn't alone.

 


	11. Chapter 11

_The_ G.S. Caspartina  
_Backsystem, near Sentinel orbit  
Date 3704.9_

 

Charles stayed with him until they were back inside. He didn't reference it, and Erik would never express it, but Erik was sure Charles had sensed the completely irrational fear that his powers would evaporate as soon as he was back on the ship. (Of course they didn't, Charles's very presence was proof that they wouldn't. But.)

With a quiet apology, Charles withdrew as soon as Erik and Storm started taking off their space suits – he was responsible for controlling the entire crew, and that was of paramount importance.

Erik tried prodding that mental space that he had just occupied, thinking surely Charles should have left an impression, but it felt the same as it always had.

Logan inspected his again-unmarred skin with an appreciative eye. “That's more like it,” he said.

Erik had almost forgotten about Logan's curiously altered skeleton. Sensing its full extent for the first time, and still buzzing from the rush of his powers, unhindered by either Restraints or dampeners, he realized he could _probably_ –

Logan hit his head on the closed doorway.

“Sorry – just checking,” Erik said.

Logan turned around, visibly unnerved and bad-tempered with it. He pointed a finger at Erik, “Don't do that again.”

Erik raised his hands in acquiescence but couldn't help but smirk a little as the door slid open and they all walked out.

–

The trip through the ship was surreal in its differences from the one they had made not more than an hour previous. There were many more unconscious bodies for starters.

“I hope he accounted for who would need to be kept awake for the critical functions of the ship.” Storm delicately toed a slumped guard aside as they entered the lift.

They took the lift higher than any of them had ever been, Erik feeling each deck as they passed. The lift stopped on the command deck and opened to a vast room full of a silently working crew. None of the workers blinked or noticed their arrival at all, which was slightly disturbing.

Erik, intrigued, poked a lieutenant. He didn't react.

“You shouldn't bother the professor, he's got a lot to manage at the moment,” a voice called out. They looked around to find Scott and Alex at one of the front control panels, their faces backlit by an enormous screen showing the outside of the ship. Scott had spoken, voice firm but strained. As they approached, Erik noticed the sweat on the boy's face and the extra tightness of his blindfold.

Not everyone was relieved to have their mutation back in full force.

“Can we get an update of what's going on?” Erik said, looking around for Charles. When Erik had pictured walking free on this ship, he'd expected to do it with him.

“We think we were in time to block communication with Sentinel Station; Alex's going through the logs now to be sure. ... Professor Xavier is talking to his ship. If they're two parsecs away like he originally planned, well – we could be out of here in a little over a day.”

The numbers started running in Erik's head again. “And how long until Sentinel Station gets suspicious of the delay?”

Scott shook his head, wiped his forehead. “That shouldn't be a problem within our projected timeframe, the professor can have the crew communicate a ship malfunction, I'm thinking a burnout of the fuel recyclers. No, the bigger concern is – ”

A piercing klaxon went off all around the deck. The crew didn't respond to the deafening noise, but all five mutants flinched.

“Alex, what'd you do? What is that?” Scott yelled over the alarm.

Alex, covering his ears, peered down frantically at the screen. “It's a – _proximity alert?_ ” He stared up at them all. “How can that be?”

Erik walked over to the viewport and stared at the enormous ship that had suddenly appeared alongside the _Caspartina._ Though smaller than the ship they were currently on, it was still immediately imposing, gleaming white and fast – an Imperial destroyer.

After a moment of stunning dread, Erik started to realize there was something was subtly off about it – its appearance was all wrong for an Imperial ship. It was an older model and altered, by the looks of the nacelles.

“Who the hell is _that_?” Alex said in the background. Erik tuned the rest of them out, concentrating on reaching out to Charles, who surely must have noticed the alert from where ever he had sequestered himself.

_Are you seeing this, Charles?_

He could feel Charles in his head again and, after the briefest expression of wordless consent, could feel him looking through his own eyes at the unidentified newcomer. There was a tickling flutter of Charles's recognition, followed almost immediately by shock.

 _It's – it's the_ White Queen, _Erik. I'm sure of it._

It took a moment for Erik to search his memory, that sparse and elementary database of system facts. _The_ White Queen _. As in – the flagship of the Hellfire Club? That_ White Queen _?_

_That would be the one, yes._

_Well, what's it doing_ here, _right now?_

 _It would make for quite a coincidence unless it was also tracking the_ Caspartina _. A question to ask Ororo, I believe._

Erik thought that was a bit of a leap in logic. _Because she's a pirate?_

 _No,_ Charles paused, and Erik was sure he was checking thoughts. _Because she recognizes the ship and knows its captain._

–

Erik turned around and stared over at Storm, who was looking out the viewport with a very believable display of disbelief.

His pulse was readily pounding again, having never quite returned to normal since he first slipped on the uniform disguise. He'd heard of the Hellfire Club, everyone had. They were barely better than the empire. He knew they weren't above using Forged labor on their ships.

He’d come too far to lose now.

Erik waved a hand, and railings from around the deck flew to Storm and pinned her back against the bulwark. The others shouted out in surprise, and she stared at him in outrage, struggling against the new cage. Her eyes flooded white and a wind picked up around Erik, lashing at his skin and blurring his vision.

“Lehnsherr, what the hell you doing?” Logan started forward, but Erik held a hand up to stop him.

“She's a pirate,” he said over the dueling howls of the alarm and wind. “She's been holding back from us.” And as they continued to glare at him, he added, “Charles says she knows the captain of that ship.”

 _This isn't quite what I meant when I said 'ask,' Erik._ Charles said drily in the corner of his mind. _Could you hold off irreparably damaging relations until after I get to the deck, please?_

Storm stopped struggling, went still in unison with the wind. “It's not like that,” she said, eyes returning to their normal dark brown. “I swear – I didn't arrange for this. They must have decided to follow the ship after I was captured on Wakanda.”

“So you admit you know them – you thought they abandoned you?” Erik added, suddenly recalling a conversation they'd had weeks previous. He didn't release her.

Logan sighed, settled down in a corner seat, and started picking his teeth with one of his claws.

“Guys,” Alex said, “that ship has guns pointed at us, and one of their shuttles is heading over to our hangar.”

“Don't open it,” Erik and Scott both said.

“Incoming transmission, they want to talk – ”

“Don't pick up,” Erik said.

“ _Pick up_!” Scott said.

Alex listened to his brother for once and stabbed the controls. The viewport was replaced with an image of another command deck – this one brightly lit and staffed by a far more cognizant and fashionable crew than the _Caspartina._ Standing in the center was a tall glittering woman with diamond skin and arms akimbo. It was hard to make out her expression in the diamond form, but it looked like she was smiling.

“Hello, 'Ro.” She said. “Looks like you'll still owe me one.”

Storm sighed and thunked her head back against the wall.

–

Charles arrived in time to negotiate. Erik watched him as soon as he stepped into the room, but the other man's attention was completely on the viewscreen.

“Ms. Frost,” he said, voice mild and courteous. “Your reputation precedes you – I've heard of your prowess as a telepath.”

The elegant diamond figure tilted her head. “I'd love to exchange pleasantries, sugar, but I'm afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage.”

“They've got _guns_ pointed at us!” Alex hissed, voice cracking.

“Charles Xavier,” Charles said, arms out. “Just a humble schoolmaster.”

Frost took in the command deck of the _Caspartina_ , with its automaton crew and multiple unconscious bodies.

“Indeed,” she said, amused. She straightened up, let her arms drop to her sides. “Well, I wouldn't want to keep you. I really just came to pick up my dear friend there. You know,” her voice dropped several degrees. “the one you have shackled alone in a room full of men.”

_For God's sake, Erik!_

“A simple misunderstanding,” Charles said smoothly.

“So you won't mind releasing her to our shuttle. It's outside your hangar. Then we can all go our separate ways peacefully.”

Charles looked intently over at Storm, obviously communicating. After a moment, his face relaxed. He nodded towards Erik, looking at him for the first time since he entered the room. It was only because of the evident strain in his expression, a reminder of everything else he was currently juggling, that Erik complied without arguing.

Erik gestured, trying not to feel like Alex sulking over a reprimand. The metal bars dropped from Storm, and she stood up immediately. Her eyes lingered on the viewscreen for a a long moment before she turned to go.

“Ororo,” Charles said before she entered the lift. She looked back at all of them. “You have my ship's comm address and channel. Stay in touch.”

She hesitated and then nodded. Then the lift doors slid shut and she was gone.

Charles turned back to the viewscreen and leaned forward, despite the exhaustion clearly clinging to him. “I would advise you not to do what you were planning on doing.”

Frost tapped her own temple – a hard crystal chime that could be heard over the comm line. “And how would you know that, exactly?”

“You may not have ordered your crew yet, but I can tell that they are standing ready to fire even now. Once Ororo gets on board, you better pilot away or I'll start taking over your crew like I did this one.” Charles smiled quietly. “Your own telepathy doesn't work in that form, does it?”

Frost smiled girlishly back and then shrugged abruptly, suddenly casual as if it didn't matter.

Alex, eyes on the computer screen, said, “They're no longer locked on us.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Xavier,” Frost said. “You should come by the Club some time. We could have some real ...fun.”

The screen went black.

Charles sighed, “I’d really like a drink.” Then he abruptly sat down on the floor. “I haven't had to pull an all-nighter since I got my DSc.” He rubbed his eyes. “It's going to be a long while until Cerebro gets here.”

“I’ll get you some tea,” Erik said.

–

They had the run of the ship for the next day. It was a strangely abstracted period of time where it felt like they existed apart, like the rest of the system didn't really exist. There was no one to tell them where to go or what to do. There was mostly nothing _to do_ , except for Charles, who paced and drank tea and controlled the crew with an increasingly manic edge as the hours wore on.

Logan investigated the crew mess hall. He hadn't mentioned Stryker to anyone. Erik wasn't even sure if anyone aside from he and Logan remembered the man, not against everything else going on. So Erik didn't mention Stryker either.

Alex and Scott continued to investigate the ship's systems, trying to wipe every trace of their presence from the ship's logs to match the selective wipe Charles would be performing. Their presence would be missed when the ship made it to Santo Marco, but the wipe would give them a little breathing room.  

Erik took a walk.

Traveling unbowed and unshackled through the corridors of the _Caspartina,_ through silent restricted zones and through prisoner cells that had seen more than their share of blood and death – it was a surreal experience. He walked over piles of sleeping bodies, guards and prisoners alike, and it felt like he was in a dream.

Except in dreams one couldn't feel. And Erik now felt everything.

–

 _You should come with us._ Somewhere on the ship, Charles was reaching out to him. _Standing on your own doesn’t mean you can’t have allies, you know._

Erik, sitting behind a desk in Gyrich's private study, put down the paper he was scanning. He looked around the lavish wood-paneled compartment, barely seeing the paper books and antique art. He recognized the phrasing.

 _And what do your mind tricks tell you, Charles?_ He got up and looked down at the Captain, propped up against the wall, face slack. _What do you really know about me, now that you have your powers back?_

He didn’t know what he was expecting for an answer, but the firm, almost defiant _e_ _verything_ that came back at him like a dagger left Erik with a lot to think about for the rest of the night.

–

_Erik? Where are you?_

Erik blinked and looked around. He'd fallen asleep in the large leather chair behind the captain's desk, SI papers strewn over its surface. He didn't know how much time had passed.

_Cerebro has arrived. Raven's here. Erik?_

Erik stood and walked around the desk, gaze barely lingering on the floor before stepping clean over the body.

_Erik?_

_I'm on my way, Charles._

He shut the door behind him.

–

He didn't know what he'd done to deserve his sentence all those years ago, what had set him on this path of imprisonment and violence, but as he walked towards the hangar, he decided all at once that it didn't have to matter anymore. He would never allow himself to be captured again.

There was a whole system out there to explore and exist in. He didn't have to be the broken animal that lashed out in the labor camps, didn't have to be the defeated man who sat quiescent in a Wakandan backwater field, waiting under the burning Vega light to be picked up and shipped off to his death. He was starting to realize – he could be _anyone_. 

At the end of the hangar, Charles stood waiting near the hatch of his ship, a strange bulbous vessel that Erik had glimpsed outside a viewport as he walked. He was talking to a young woman with blue skin and a sly smile, but when he spotted Erik, he broke off.

Charles shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted his body towards Erik. After a moment of consideration, he smiled and called out, “Need a ride somewhere?”

Erik said, “I'd like to come with you.”

He saw Charles register the words, the careful, deliberate difference in what they had both said, and the smile changed, slow and rich.

Charles held out his hand, and Erik walked towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. 
> 
> As you may have guessed from certain, uh, lingering issues, I do hope to write another story. Well. Actually I plan to write two more major stories, with a few shorter side stories where needed. Arsenic Hour, the next (short) installment in the series, tells the story of How Charles Ended Up On That Shuttle. 
> 
> Feedback is dearly appreciated, thanks for reading!


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